Beth
by PippinDuck
Summary: Just when all hope seemed gone, Beth Calavicci had a most unusual visitor. Picks up where MIA and Mirror Image left off and offers glimpses into life for Beth and Al from that day forward. ON HIATUS Update: 10/1/2012 My continued apologies for the lack of attention. I am hoping to write & post a chapter or two by the end of the year. If only there were more hours in the day...
1. Prologue

**Beth **

by Jennifer L. Rowland

**Prologue  
**  
Al's face twisted in anguish as he faced his best friend. Tears shone in his eyes as the words were wrenched from his throat, from his heart. From his soul. 

"Oh, Sam. God, I love her!" Intense pain filled the space between the two men, palpable and heavy. "Beth is the only woman I ever really loved; she's the only one I ever wanted to grow old with." The hurt on his face cut through Sam like a lance.

"That's why all my marriages never worked after that... Sam, if you're lucky, life is gonna give you one shot at true love...and Beth was mine. Now, I lost her, but you can get her back for me!"

Sam was tormented by his own pain as his friend begged him for help. "God, Al, I wish I could. But I can't...and no one knows that better than you."

"I don't know that!" argued Al, desperately, stubbornly gripping the fleeting chance with both hands.

"In your heart you do," countered Sam, as gently as he could. In all the times Sam had wished he could touch the Observer, the longing had never been so keen as it was now. He felt like he'd just kicked a puppy.

"No. No," Al wouldn't meet Sam's eyes, and he shook his head. Then, firmly, trying to convince Sam as well as himself, he reiterated, "You were Leaped in here to keep Beth and me together."

At the time, Sam had been convinced Al was wrong, that he'd been there solely to save the life of Roger Skaggs. However, once the policeman had been saved, Sam still hadn't Leaped, and he'd told Al it was so the Observer could spend the final moments of Sam's Leap with his true love.

Now, as he sat next to the Bartender, Sam realized that maybe those final moments had been for him, Sam, to have given Beth the hope she needed to wait for Al's return. Would it really have taken so long to do? He'd just been told he could control his Leaps, and with conviction, he knew where his next one would take him.

"I've got a wrong to put right for Al..."


	2. Thursday, April 3, 1969

**Thursday, April 3, 1969**  
  
I don't know when things had ever seemed worse. Being without Al was something I'd never get used to, the pain and loss weighed down on me day after day. Now, after two years, I was doubting anyone could survive being shot down by the VC, doubting that I'd ever see my husband again. That Marine kid in the burn ward, Andy, well, he just reminded me so much of Al-- that cocky fighting spirit that cried out, "Look out, world!" And when he died, I knew the odds were too much for anyone to beat, even my Al.

Jake and Dirk, bless them, each tried to help; but that night, like so many others that had come before, I was all alone with my memories. As I sat there, listening to the Righteous Brothers and smoking a cigarette, it almost seemed as if Al's spirit was there with me, talking to me, watching me. Saying good-bye. On impulse, I changed the music to "Georgia on My Mind," our song. As I danced alone in the living room, eyes closed, I imagined Al dancing there with me, the way we used to. With each step I pictured his face mere inches away from mine. If I concentrated hard enough, I could almost feel his breath against my cheek, smell the scent of him. Was he really there with me? I didn't dare open my eyes and shatter the illusion. I missed the way he whispered my name, the way his voice could make the single syllable last an eternity. The song drew to a close, and I felt the faintest brushing of his lips across my forehead, and then I was alone. My heart plummeted at the sudden emptiness that encompassed the room. I knew then that Al was dead, that I would have to face life alone, or start anew. 

"Al," I whispered, resignation washing over me along with a flood of tears.

I opened my eyes, and for a split-second could see nothing through the blur of my tears. My vision cleared, and it was then that I saw the man. 

"Beth?" he asked.

I didn't even stop to wonder how he knew my name. "Who are you? How did you get in here?" He hadn't come through the door, I was sure of that. Those hinges had needed to be oiled since before Al had left.

His sincere face was oddly reassuring in spite of his sudden appearance in my living room. "I'm not going to harm you," he said.

I believed him. Why I should believe a strange man who was inexplicably standing in front of me, I didn't know, but, somehow, he just seemed to be someone I could trust. He was a handsome man, probably about to hit forty, with a striking shock of white hair in the front. There was something profoundly sad behind those hazel eyes. I couldn't begin to fathom on what might have caused it. My mind was racing when he spoke again.

"I'm here to help you. Help you, and help Al."

"Al?" He nodded. "You're . . . you're a friend of Al's?" He must have known something about Al's death, heard that they'd finally found his body, and come personally before they could deliver a telegram. His reaction only served to strengthen this feeling for me.

His voice broke ever so slightly when he answered, "Yeah, I'm a friend of Al's." He hesitated. "Do you think we could sit?"

As we sat down on the couch, I steeled myself for the words which would verify what I had come to terms with just moments before. Even though I now believed Al was dead, some part of me didn't really want it verified. Another part of me yearned for the closure, for healing for the raw wound tearing at my soul. Could this man help either me or Al? How? Who was he? I still wasn't sure how he'd gotten in my house, but I pushed those thoughts from my mind as he began speaking again.

"I'm gonna tell you a story, Beth. A story with a happy ending, but only if you believe me."

That took me by surprise. I wasn't sure where he was headed. "And if I don't?" I asked him.

"You will. I swear you will. But instead of starting with 'Once upon a time,' let's start with the happy ending." He paused and I drew in my breath.

"Al's alive, and he's coming home."

Those were not the words I had prepared myself for. They were the most welcome surprise I had ever known. _Oh, God, can it be?_ All I could do was smile before the tears streamed down my face. I stared at the man and he stared intently back at me, truth of his words boring into me. Al was alive? How could this man possibly know for sure? It was too much to hope for, and I had run out of hope. I opened my mouth to ask him a question when he vanished in a shimmery blue light.

The sudden appearance, without explanation; his exit in a flash of light. I knew with absolute certainty he was telling the truth. Al was alive. He would come home to me. The man--the angel had told me so.

I ran my fingers across the name engraved on my M.I.A. bracelet. _Lieutenant Albert Calavicci._ "Thank You," I whispered. "Thank You, God."


	3. Monday, June 15, 1970

**Monday, June 15, 1970  
**  
Yvonne and I were walking back to the hospital after our lunch break. We had decided to treat ourselves to a real lunch, rather than a meal at the hospital cafeteria. The load in the burn ward had thankfully been light and not too serious.  
  
"Oh, Beth, hon, before we go back to the hospital do you think we could take a turn round the park?" Yvonne asked.  
  
"Sure, Yvonne. It's such a nice day, I'd love the extra walk." I patted her arm; the light glinted off the M.I.A. bracelet. I gently rubbed Al's name again, to feel the engraved letters beneath my fingertips. _I know you're coming home to me, Al, but when?_ I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill, and once again forced the memory of my supernatural visitation to the front of my mind.  
  
Yvonne's plump arm snaked around my shoulders. "He's coming home, Beth. He will come home."  
  
I let out a shaky sigh and nodded. "I know. It's just so hard being without him. Especially today. Did you know today's his birthday?" Yvonne nodded sympathetically as I wiped away tears. "I just wish that . . ." My words were cut off when we noticed the crowd at the newsstand.  
  
"What's going on?" Yvonne asked the proprietor.  
  
"The last pictures from that photographer that got killed in Vietnam just got released in _Life_. What was her name? Maggie Dorlin, or something like that?"  
  
"Maggie Dawson," one of the patrons corrected him.  
  
"Yeah, that's it! She got a shot of some of our boys that those damn Vietcong were moving to a POW camp. The photo's on the cover if you're interested." He handed a copy to Yvonne.  
  
She looked down at the magazine and paled. She handed the proprietor a dollar for it and stepped back, grabbing me by the wrist as she did.  
  
"What is it?" I asked. She wouldn't answer. Wordlessly, she led me to a park bench across the street.  
  
"Sit down," she said. Her eyes were starting to get misty.  
  
"Yvonne, what is it?" I repeated. "What's wrong?" I craned my head to see the magazine cover, but she'd pressed it against her chest. I'd never seen Yvonne act like this before, and her behavior both confused and worried me.  
  
"I said sit down, Beth!" When I complied, albeit with a suspicious look on my face, she sat down next to me.  
  
"What is going on? It has something to do with that photo, doesn't it?" Realization dawned. "Oh, God! It has to do with Al!"  
  
Yvonne nodded. "He's a POW, Beth." She handed me the magazine.  
  
Oh, God, there he was...too thin, haggard, worn . . . but alive! His hands were bound behind his back, and his captors were forcing him along the jungle path. Compliant yet resistant, he, unlike his fellow prisoners, looked back. Albert Calavicci...alive. I blinked away sudden tears to focus on his face. Even after three years of imprisonment he still had a strong spark of life. You could see it in his eyes. In the strength of will to look directly into the camera lens. I gasped when I realized that he must have seen her! He must have known how close freedom was when he saw the American reporter hiding in the bushes.  
  
I traced his face with my finger. "Oh, Al," I managed to get out before I dissolved into tears. I fell against Yvonne's shoulder. She wrapped her arms around me and gently rocked back and forth.  
  
"Shhh. You know he's alive. You knew that even before you saw the picture." Yvonne smoothed a lock of hair off my face. "He's coming home for you, Beth. You can see the determination in his face."  
  
"Oh, God, Yvonne, he's had to put up with three years of their torture! How can he stand it?" I began crying harder. "How much longer can he stand it?"  
  
"Stop it! That line of thought will do nothing to help either one of you," Yvonne was firm. "Al is strong. If anyone can outlast those damn Vietcong it's him." She forced me to sit up and face her. "Your job, my dear, is to stay strong for him. Pray for him every night. Cry yourself to sleep, if you have to. But you stay strong for him. When he comes home he's gonna need you just as much as you've needed him, if not more." She pulled a small packet of Kleenex from her purse. "Here, hon." She drew me into an embrace. "Go ahead and let it out. Let it all out." 


	4. Tuesday, September 9, 1975

**Tuesday, September 9, 1975**  
  
The ringing phone drew my attention away from the letter I was writing. In addition to the weekly letters badgering the government to fight harder for Al's release from the Vietcong POW camps, I had been writing letters to Al. After five years I had a sizable stack, tied up with a bright red ribbon, waiting for him to read when he came home to me. I laid the pen I saved especially for these letters to the side and moved to the hall table to answer the phone.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"May I speak with Lieutenant Elizabeth Calavicci?" The voice on the other end of the line was male and deep.  
  
"This is she."  
  
"This is Captain William Griffith of the United States Navy. Lt. Calavicci, I have good news for you. Your husband, Albert, was located two weeks ago, and arrangements were immediately made for his repatriation."  
  
"You found him?" My knees sagged. I sank down onto the nearby bench in relief. "When will he be home?"  
  
"If all continues to go as well as it has, the transfer negotiations should be completed in a few days' time. We've made arrangements for you to be flown to Bethesda to meet Lieutenant Calavicci upon his return," Captain Griffith said.  
  
"Bethesda? Yes, of course," I stammered out.  
  
"Lieutenant," Captain Griffith paused meaningfully, "I want to assure you that your husband will be placed under the best care available. His service to his country has not gone unnoticed."  
  
I made my thank yous and farewells to Captain Griffith in a daze. Al was coming home. My eight-year-long dream was coming true. And how much more was it Al's dream than mine? I wasn't the one who was dragged at gunpoint through the Vietnamese jungles. I wasn't the one who had been beaten and tortured for the past eight years. I wasn't the one who was isolated and ever so far from home.  
  
My feeble attempts to imagine Al's horror could not even come close to the reality. I became vaguely aware of the twin streams running down my cheeks. Al's photo smiled down at me from its place on the mantel. A wave of pride washed over me as I realized that my husband had beaten the VC; he was coming home to me. Yvonne's words from five years ago suddenly ran through my head: _"You stay strong for him. When he comes home he's gonna need you just as much as you've needed him, if not more."_  
  
The cover photo of _Life_ was on the table across the room from me. I walked over and picked it up, looking at the moment forever frozen in time--Al being led away to another POW camp. This moment was in the past, but it was a part of the past that would always haunt him, I knew that. I vowed then never to let on how close I had come to giving up on him. If it hadn't been for that angel and his words . . . I shook my head. Yvonne was right, Al needed my strength, not my weakness.  
  
I took my seat and resumed my letter.  
  
_My dearest Al. I've just gotten the best phone call I could ever have hoped for. At last, you're coming home. Oh, my dear, dear Al, I've missed you so much. I don't believe I could ever find the words to describe how happy I am right now. The prospect of seeing you again is like the beams from a lighthouse, leading the way from a dark and treacherous sea of misery to hope and life.  
  
Eight years...Al, even eight days is too long to be apart from you. I long to see your face again, to feel your arms around me, to be with you. I know these years have seemed an eternity to me—how much worse they have to have been for you. But no...we need to look ahead, not behind. Our life stretches out before us. You're coming home, we're going to be together again, and that's all that matters.  
  
I love you so much, Albert Mario Calavicci. I'm so proud to be your wife.  
  
With all my love,   
Beth_


	5. Saturday, September 13, 1975

**Saturday, September 13, 1975**  
  
In the morning, Captain Griffith called again to confirm my reservations aboard the flight to Baltimore with the news that Al had arrived at the naval hospital late the night before. Apprehension suddenly tried to take over the happiness I felt. I knew to expect both physical and emotional scars, but how much of the husband I had known would be in the man who was a returned Prisoner of War? The VC's treatment of POWs was far from exemplary--how deeply had they shattered his spirit?  
  
These thoughts mingled with the joy and relief I felt at Al's return. My flight to Maryland was alternately happy and sorrowful. The closer I came to the East Coast, though, the more the happiness began to win the battle for control. I decided his condition did not matter; Al was back and alive, that was the only important thing. I directed a silent prayer of gratitude heavenward as the plane taxied down the runway.  
  
A tall man in naval uniform was waiting for me as I disembarked. Captain William Griffith extended his hand for me to shake. "Lieutenant Calavicci, welcome to Baltimore. I trust your flight was pleasant."  
  
I nodded in thanks. "Yes, Captain Griffith, thank you."  
  
"I have a car ready to get you settled in your hotel."  
  
"I appreciate that, Captain; but, sir, I would really like to see my husband as soon as possible."  
  
His smile widened, "I fully understand, ma'am. I can drive you directly to the hospital. I'll have someone see to your bags." He signaled, and a young ensign hurried over. "Ensign Randolph will take your luggage to the hotel for you."  
  
"Thank you very much," I said as I handed the baggage claim tickets to Ensign Randolph.  
  
"How is Al?" I asked as we walked to the drive in front of the airport. Captain Griffith waited until we were both seated in his car and on our way before he answered.  
  
"He's doing about as well as could be expected," he said. "He's quite weak, naturally, and suffering from malnourishment. He's also got some nasty infections in several of the wounds they'd inflicted on him." He glanced over at me in concern. I struggled to regain my composure, wiping away the tears that had sprung to my eyes at his words.  
  
"Please continue, Captain," I said, "it's important that I know everything you can tell me."  
  
Captain Griffith nodded. "He's going to need corrective surgery for several broken bones that didn't heal properly, particularly some ribs. But we can't perform the surgery until he's regained his strength."  
  
"What about . . . ?" I couldn't seem to finish the sentence. Captain Griffith finished it for me.  
  
"Psychological wounds?" At my nod, he continued. "We won't know about those for a while yet. They tend to take longer to surface. I hope your being there for him will help them heal quickly, though." His face grew wistful. "A lot of the POWs who'd been listed MIA came back to find themselves totally alone. Not only did they have to deal with the scars from the VC, they had to deal with the loss of their wives." He looked over at me again with a renewed grin. "Thank God you're still here for Al after eight years."  
  
"Yes," I agreed as the angel's face flashed across my mind. "Thank God."  
  
The rest of the drive was silent until we pulled up in front of the hospital. I stared up at the sign for several long seconds. _Bethesda Naval Hospital_. Al was in there, recovering from whatever atrocities the VC had committed. Did he know I was coming? Did he even remember me? Captain Griffith's voice pulled me back from my thoughts.  
  
"Are you ready, Lieut...Mrs. Calavicci?"  
  
I took a deep breath and smiled gratefully at the captain, "Yes. Yes, I am."  
  
The elevator ride to the fourth floor was quiet. My only thoughts were of Al, and I wasn't capable of small talk. Nor did Captain Griffith seem willing to disturb my reverie. He only spoke when the elevator doors slid open.  
  
"Lieutenant Calavicci's room is this way, ma'am." He led me down the still hallway to a private room and gently pushed the door open for me. "I'll give you some time alone with him," he said.  
  
It took me a moment to adjust to the dim lighting in the room. The only sound was the hum of the machinery lining the walls. As I moved closer to the dark form on the bed, I could hear slow, but far from relaxed, breathing. I quietly sat down in the chair next to the bed and got my first good look at Al Calavicci in over eight years.  
  
He hardly looked like the same man. Captain Griffith's explanation of malnutrition had not totally prepared me for Al's condition. I had never seen him so thin before. His face was drawn, his cheekbones far too pronounced, dark circles ringing his closed eyes. His right hand lay on top of the covers, with two IV lines running glucose and antibiotics into his system. The tubes seemed thicker than his fingers. I gasped when I noticed the white gauze bandages wrapped around each wrist. The wounds from the ropes and shackles would take a long time to heal, no doubt. As would the emotional ones, I thought, remembering Captain Griffith's words.  
  
I picked up Al's left hand, tears stinging my eyes at how frail his once strong hand had become. He twitched, and his face contorted with whatever pain the dream he was having had resurrected. I reached over to caress his forehead with my other hand.  
  
"Shhh," I soothed, "it's all right. Everything's going to be all right now." My voice must have penetrated the dream, for some of the tension left Al's face. "You're home, Al. You're home with me," I murmured, lifting stray curls from his forehead. I drew my hand back as he stirred.  
  
"Al?" I whispered as his dark eyes slowly opened.  
  
Al looked at me and smiled to himself, as if I was merely a part of his dream. The lids began to slide downward again when he tightened his grip on my hand.  
  
His eyes snapped open and he stared incredulously at our intertwined fingers. Al lifted his eyes, gazing deeply, searchingly into mine.  
  
"Beth?" His voice was barely above a whisper.  
  
"Yes, Al," I said, lightly rubbing my thumb across the back of his hand, "I'm here."  
  
"I'm not dreaming, am I? You're really here with me?"  
  
"I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere, Al." Tears were beginning to fall from my eyes. "I'm right here," I repeated.  
  
Al slowly lifted his right hand from the bed, wincing with the pain of movement. He touched my cheek, as if he were afraid I would vanish along with the last vestiges of the dream. "You're really here," he said over and over again. "Oh, God, you're really here." I tilted my head and kissed the palm of his hand.  
  
"God, Beth, I've missed you so much," his voice broke and tears ran down his cheeks.  
  
"I've missed you, too, Al. But we're together now. You're home." I leaned forward to kiss his forehead. "Nothing is ever going to separate us. Ever." I gingerly wiped the tears from his cheeks. He leaned his face into my touch, keeping a tight grip on my other hand.  
  
"Beth, don't leave," he said in a small, almost childlike voice when I removed my fingers from his cheek. He seemed to be drinking me in with his eyes, matching my face to his memory.  
  
I bent down, lightly outlining his mouth with my fingertips. "I don't plan on ever leaving your side." Almost hesitantly, though I'd longed to kiss him from the moment I'd entered the room, I met his lips with mine. The fervency with which he returned the kiss quickly put to rest any worries of hurting him or aggravating wounds. His left hand moved palm to palm with mine so that our fingers were laced together. Despite the pain it obviously caused him, Al brought his right hand up to touch my cheek and hair. When the kiss ended, the deep brown eyes still intently watching me glistened with emotion.  
  
Sleep was beginning to overtake him again, but he fought it. "Al, love, you need your rest," I gently chided.  
  
"No," he insisted. "I want to look at you. It's been so long...so damned long." He paused as a new flood of tears unashamedly broke free. "For eight years I've dreamed of seeing you again, hearing you say my name."  
  
My own face was soaked with joyful tears. I lifted his hand and kissed his fingers. "I love you, Albert Calavicci."  
  
Al was losing his battle to stay awake. Before sleep claimed its victory, he whispered the words I'd longed to hear for eight years, "I love you, Beth. God, I love you so much. My Beth..."  
  
I sat and watched him sleep for several minutes. Only the sensation of his hand in mine kept me from doubting that this moment had actually come. I had my husband back, and I was not going to let him go. I gently stroked his cheek, wishing I could stroke away the harsh memories I knew lay beneath his troubled face.  
  
"Lt. Calavicci?"

I turned to see Captain Griffith peering into the room. His voice was pitched low so as not to disturb Al.  
  
"Come in, Captain," I smiled, speaking in the same low tone.  
  
Captain Griffith paused at the foot of Al's bed. "I can already see what a positive effect you've had on him. This is the first time he's rested so easily."  
  
"Seeing him has helped me a lot, too."  
  
Captain Griffith gestured at our joined hands with a smile. "Obviously."  
  
I laughed quietly and then soberly turned to Captain Griffith. "Captain, I appreciate the hotel accommodations you set up for me, but would it be possible for me to stay here, with Al?" I glanced at Al's peaceful face. "I don't want to leave him alone."  
  
He looked thoughtful for a long moment. "I'll have the nursing staff set up a cot for you. I think it would be good for Al, and you. I'll have your luggage sent over immediately." He smiled and patted my shoulder before he left. "God bless you, Beth."


	6. Thursday, September 25, 1975

**Thursday, September 25, 1975  
**  
"No! Stop! _No! Oh, God, no!_"   
  
Al's impassioned screams jolted me awake. I squinted through the darkness to see his body thrashing about. I jumped from my cot and was instantly at his side.  
  
I grabbed his hand and began to speak reassurances in a quiet, even tone, though my insides were being wrenched as violently as Al was tossing in the bed. His nightmares had been increasing in intensity and frequency. The psychiatrist assured me that it was a good sign, that it meant he was dealing with the trauma at some level, but it still tore my heart out to see Al in such torment.  
  
Marlene, one of the night shift nurses, poked her head in the door, alerted by Al's screams. She turned the light on, noted his thrashing, and took a post on the other side of the bed. She clamped down on his right arm so he wouldn't yank the IV needles from his hand; with her other hand, she flicked the call button.  
  
"Page Dr. Matthews," she told the young nurse who appeared in the doorway.  
  
"Dr. Matthews?" I asked. "Why are you calling him?"  
  
"Lieutenant Calavicci's memories will be fresher when he wakes. An impromptu session with Dr. Matthews can help him come to terms with what happened to him in Vietnam."  
  
What Marlene said made sense, but I still got angry. "Isn't it enough that he's reliving it now? It tortures him when he's asleep, and now you want it to continue when he's awake?" I looked down at Al's face. Pain was etched into every line.  
  
She was right, of course. The dreams would keep on torturing Al unless he acknowledged the pain of what he'd been through. That wouldn't be easy for him. He'd never really opened up to me about how much he'd been hurt by his mother's abandonment when he was six, or about his father's and sister's deaths. It was easier for Al to bury what bothered him.  
  
I started to apologize to Marlene, but she gave me a small smile which rendered it unnecessary. We both refocused our attention on Al, whose agitated movements had gradually slowed. At Marlene's urging, I gently placed a hand on either side of Al's face and began to speak in a soothing voice.  
  
"Al? Al, babe, wake up. You're home, Al. Come back to me, honey, I'm right here."   
  
I heard the door open to admit Dr. Matthews.   
  
"Al, it's Beth. Everything's okay, love, you're not in Vietnam, you're here with me."  
  
The nurse and psychiatrist conferred in a corner as I tried to draw Al from the nightmare. Al startled me when his eyes abruptly flew open; they were glazed over with panic in the split second before he recognized me.  
  
"Beth. Beth, thank God, it's you." He blew out a large breath and wiped the sweat from his face.

"You were in Vietnam again, weren't you?" I pressed.   
  
Al looked embarrassed. He closed his eyes and nodded.   
  
"Oh, Al, it's nothing to be ashamed of, honey. They must have put you through hell." I ran my hand through his damp hair.  
  
"Indeed," said Dr. Matthews. He signaled to Marlene to raise Al's bed to a sitting position.  
  
Al glared suspiciously at the psychiatrist as he was moved. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.  
  
"I just want to talk with you, Lieutenant," Dr. Matthews said.  
  
"What, because of a nightmare?" Al scoffed. His laugh sounded hollow and unconvincing.  
  
"Is that really all it is?" Dr. Matthews challenged him. He looked pointedly at Al's wrists and the now bloodstained bandages; Al's violent tossing had ruptured the fragile scar tissue underneath. "Your physical wounds haven't healed yet. What makes you think your emotional wounds have?"  
  
Al looked out the window and mumbled something unintelligible to me, even though I was right next to him.  
  
"I couldn't hear you, Lieutenant," Dr. Matthews said. "What did you say?"  
  
Al fixed intent dark eyes on the psychiatrist. "I said I'm not crazy," he enunciated.  
  
"And no one's accusing you of that, Lieutenant," Dr. Matthews said.  
  
"The hell they're not," Al flared, gesturing at the medical staff. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here."  
  
My stomach twisted into a knot at his words. I should have known he would react in exactly this way to a psychiatrist, and I was sure that his scheduled sessions had gone off just as hostilely. To admit he needed help was tantamount to admitting a personal weakness, and Al would probably rather sacrifice a limb than talk to a shrink. I only hoped that the doctor had enough insight to realize the fear for his own sanity that prompted Al to resent the implications of therapy.  
  
Dr. Matthews spoke very clearly and patiently. "I am here because you have just returned from an _extremely_ traumatic situation. You may not realize—or may not want to realize—but your internment has affected you. If you don't deal with the wounds the POW camp has inflicted on your psyche now, they'll never heal properly. It's just like your ribs. You're having surgery to correct them because those wounds were ignored."  
  
Al thoughtfully ran a hand down his side, feeling the uneven and twisted bones. I hoped the parallel to a physical injury would break through his resistance. I had to admit a degree of thankfulness that the doctor had phrased things the way he had.  
  
Dr. Matthews continued, "Untreated psychological wounds have repercussions just as severe. And," he paused until Al met his eyes, "they often affect those around you as well as yourself."  
  
Al angrily opened his mouth in protest. "I . . ."

He stopped and looked up at me for a long second, then reached for my hand and gently squeezed it. Perhaps he was searching for reassurance—but for me or for him? Maybe it was for both of us. I returned his gaze with compassion and concern. He took a deep breath and returned his attention to the doctor. No one knew better than I did how hard the next words he spoke were for him.

"All right," he sighed. "I'll cooperate with you, Doctor."


	7. Friday, October 17, 1975

**Friday, October 17, 1975**  
  
"Beth, I'm going stir crazy in here."  
  
"I know, honey." Hospital regulations eventually had to be enforced, and when visiting hours were over, I now took a cab to the hotel instead of sleeping in Al's hospital room. As if we were teenagers dating, Al and I would talk on the telephone late into the night.  
  
"Can't you sneak back in here for a while? You know, we haven't had a chance for a 'proper' welcome home."  
  
"Albert Calavicci! For one thing, it's only been two days since your surgery! For another....that's just tacky."  
  
He laughed heartily, and then let out a small groan as his newly- reconstructed ribs apparently voiced their protest.  
  
I murmured, "I promise you this—when they release you from the hospital, baby, you'll have a whole new perspective on what constitutes a proper welcome home."  
  
"Well, if they keep dragging out these surgeries, that might not be til Christmas," groused Al. If he had his way, the doctors would repair everything in one fell swoop, never mind that his recovery would be more intensely painful. He grunted in discomfort again.  
  
"Al, if you're in pain, call a nurse, sweetie."  
  
"Don't need to, I'm already talking to my favorite one. Besides, it only hurts when I laugh." A sharp intake of breath raised its objection to his words. Before I could argue on the basis of this evidence, he quickly said, "I just turned the wrong way, Beth."  
  
"You should let them know you're hur...uncomfortable. They can increase your pain meds."  
  
I could picture his hand flapping dismissively in the air. "It's nothing, Beth. Really, honey, I can handle it."  
  
"I don't understand why you want to 'handle it,' Al. You shouldn't be feeling anything. Obviously, they're not giving you a strong enough dose."  
  
He chuckled, "I'm not even going to try and fight you on this, because I know tomorrow morning you're going to have a little consultation at the nurse's station, and my painkillers'll get increased anyway."  
  
I tucked my feet underneath me in the chair and chuckled softly. "Fine, be pigheaded tonight."  
  
"Don't make me laugh," he warned, his tone evidence of the large smile on his face. The small grunt as he apparently shifted position again gradually transformed into a yawn.  
  
"Oh, it's late!" I said, his yawn prompting me to check my watch. "I need to let you go to sleep."  
  
"Do I sound like I want to go to sleep?"  
  
"Apart from yawning, you mean?"  
  
"What did I just tell you about making me laugh?" He chuckled softly, and after a few moments, sighed. "Beth, I wish they'd still let you stay here."  
  
"So do I, baby." I looked around my empty hotel room. Sure, I had a much more comfortable bed than the cot I'd been sleeping on, but it was too far from Al. Never mind that I was only a short cab ride from the hospital; anything that wasn't in the same room with him was too far away.  
  
"Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, Captain Griffith stopped by after you left this evening. He said I can pretty much write my own ticket after this."  
  
"He did? Al, that's fabulous! What are you thinking about requesting?"  
  
Al paused before answering. "Well, it'll obviously depend on getting a clean bill of health before the year's out, but I was considering the space program."  
  
"Hmmm," I said after letting the silence stretch out far too long. Noncommittally, though my stomach had dropped at his words, I asked, "Isn't that dangerous?"  
  
"Well, no one can shoot you down when you're orbiting the moon," he said. "I was just thinking about it, anyway. It's only one of the avenues Captain Griffith suggested."  
  
I felt guilty hearing him backpedal from something I knew he dearly wanted to do. At the same time, outer space was even farther away than Vietnam. If something went wrong with his mission, I'd certainly never see him again.  
  
"If you don't want me to do it, Beth, I won't give it another thought," he continued, taking my silence for blanket disapproval. "You're the most important thing in the world to me."  
  
"It's not that I don't want you to do it, Al. It's just...I just got you back and..." I broke off as tears suddenly filled my voice.  
  
"Oh, Beth. God, I'm an idiot."  
  
I silently cursed the lump in my throat for its betrayal. "No, you're not. You're looking at a whole world of options that are waiting for you."  
  
"Look, I don't even have to decide until I'm out of the hospital. I didn't mean to upset you, honey."  
  
"You didn't," I lied, willing my tone to remain cheerful. "Just give me some time to get used to the idea."  
  
"I love you, Beth. More than anything. And I promise you—you're never going to take a backseat to anything else, not ever again. I mean it—if you don't want me to pursue astronaut training, I won't do it. No regrets."  
  
"I love you, too. Like I said, just give me some time to get used to the idea. We can talk about it again. I'm not closing the door on this yet." I chewed my lip for a moment, again wishing I was in the room with him, when a thought struck me. "Al? Can you see the stars from your window, love?"  
  
A small moan of pain escaped as he shifted to look. "Yeah."  
  
"Me, too. I'm wishing on that bright one right below the moon. Can you see it?"  
  
His voice was softer now. "Yeah, I see it."  
  
"I'm wishing that you can feel how much I love you, the kiss I'd be giving you right now if I was in that room with you."  
  
"I can," he whispered. "I'll be dreaming of it until I see you tomorrow morning."  
  
"Then I'll be sure it measures up to your dreams. Sleep well, Al. I love you."  
  
"Goodnight, Beth. I love you."  
  
Reluctantly, we hung up. I drew my feet up into the chair and hugged my knees, staring at the stars. I mulled over our conversation, weighing my worries for his safety against his willingness to give up the chance to soar next to those stars for me. 


	8. Wednesday, November 26, 1975

**Wednesday, November 26, 1975**

Al was released from the hospital just in time for Thanksgiving. Never before had I brought more gratitude to the holiday. I wanted to make it a special celebration, so I'd contacted my mother to help me plan. I'd asked for help creating a menu for just myself and Al and any pointers on how I could make it memorable for him. She'd quickly taken control, and before I knew quite what was happening the whole family was expected to fly down to spend the holiday weekend with us. While I knew my parents were looking forward to seeing Al again, I wasn't as sure about my siblings. Both my brother and sister had tried to convince me to move on with my life and quit wasting it on such a slim hope, and while their arguments had lessened slightly after Al's photo was featured on the cover of _Life_ five years ago, they had still doubted his return. I tried to bear in mind that they had just been concerned about me, and that's what had spurred their dissent. Besides, they were all coming to celebrate his return, weren't they?

Just the night before, when I'd called to touch base, my mother told me she and Janie were creating a menu for Thanksgiving dinner which was "guaranteed to put the meat back on his bones." I'd warned her that Al was still extremely thin, despite the fact that he'd gained quite a few pounds in the hospital. Though she'd told me that she rather knew what to expect, I suspected that she would actually be shocked when she saw him. Al had always been slender, but healthy-looking. Now he seemed so fragile that I sometimes was afraid to put my arms around him.

Captain Griffith, who had seen Al admitted to the hospital, was on hand for his release. Al was slightly embarrassed by the ceremony with which Captain Griffith made his farewells, as he repeatedly expressed his intentions to keep abreast of Al's future activities, which he said were sure to be remarkable. After ensuring that all paperwork was promptly processed, Captain Griffith escorted us downstairs (personally pushing the wheelchair the hospital insisted Al sit in) to a waiting limousine bound for the airport. He crisply returned Al's salute, and stepped back toward the hospital entrance, but didn't go inside until we pulled out of the drive.

"I can't believe this day is actually here," Al said when we were underway.

"You're coming home for real, now," I said, and leaned in for a kiss. "The house is virtually the same. Do you remember it?"

"Do I remember it? I could walk through it blindfolded. Our house was one of the things I remembered to get me through the nights at Cham Hoi." As the name of one of the most notorious of the camps he'd been imprisoned in passed his lips, he abruptly turned away to look out the windows at the passing city.

"Mom and Dad should already be there when we arrive," I said, to change the subject. "I went ahead and mailed her the spare key last week. She'll probably have a meal waiting."

Al smiled, "I always did love your mother's cooking. Of course, I'd love anyone's cooking after a couple months of hospital food. Even yours."

"Ha, a comedian." I rolled my eyes. But I was secretly thrilled that Al's sense of humor had returned in full force. If it meant I had to endure some good-natured teasing, so be it.

"Janie and Frank will fly in Thursday morning. And Rob'll drive down in time for Thanksgiving dinner," I mentioned, consulting the notes I'd scrawled across the hotel stationery about my siblings' arrival times during one of my mother's many phone calls.

"Mm-hm," Al nodded. He seemed distracted, and I hoped that he wouldn't be overwhelmed by the holiday and my mother's extravagant plans. When I asked him, he abruptly shook his head, as if he were shaking off a memory, and grinned expansively at me. "It sounds wonderful, honey." He took me into his arms and kissed me.

Soon we arrived at the airport. Thanks to Captain Griffith, our luggage had already been sent to the airlines. All that remained for us to do was to board the plane, amid stares at my dreadfully thin ex-POW husband. Some of them, coming from a small cluster of youths clad in tie-dyed shirts, had a distinctly resentful edge at the sight of Al's naval uniform. Others were steeped in pity. Still others merely gawked, following our every movement with their eyes. Al was so lost in thought he didn't appear to have noticed, but I did, and it infuriated me. I glared back defensively.

We got settled into our seats, and Al instantly took my hand, caressing it, stroking the back, palm, and each finger in turn. He kissed me on a cheek that flushed pink when he whispered huskily and sexily in my ear, "I can't wait to get you in bed."

Even so, he fell asleep shortly after take-off, which worried me. Al loved flying and almost always had been the one to stay awake while I fell asleep on commercial flights. He enjoyed watching the ground pass far below while the clouds and sky drifted past his window. My imagination began to work overtime. I was suspecting anything from residual trauma of the prison camps to the memory of his plane being shot down. Finally, common sense returned and acknowledged that Al was not yet back to full strength and needed rest. I sighed and began counting the hours and minutes until we landed in San Diego. I wanted to get him back into a familiar environment and into the warmth of our family's love.

_And my family is your family, Al._ I wasn't sure if he'd ever fully realize that. He still carried the pain of the abandonment he'd known throughout his childhood, I knew, even though he'd never expressed the feeling to me in so many words. Before he was a teenager he'd lost his entire family. His mother had abandoned them, his father had died, and he and his sister Trudy had been separated; Al had gone to an orphanage, and Trudy had been sent to an institution, where she'd died before Al could find her again when he came of age. Shortly before we married, Al had told me that he never knew what love was until he met me, and while touched, I'd dismissed it as a clichéd line. It wasn't until later, when I learned what his childhood had been like, that I realized the depth of what he'd said. Now more than ever, I hoped that he would be aware that my parents were there for him as if he were their own son.

I glanced at Al, whose head had fallen against my shoulder, breathing a gentle sigh of relief that he seemed to be having pleasant dreams. Though his intensive sessions with the psychiatrist had succeeded in eradicating some of the nightmare memories, others still surfaced in his sleep from time to time. Dr. Matthews had remarked that this pattern could continue for years, considering the profundity of his experience in Vietnam, though Al's conscious acknowledgment might have shortened the duration. I still didn't know exactly what my husband had gone through in Vietnam. His sessions had been closed, and Al refused to talk about it with me afterwards. I wondered if he was trying to protect me from knowing what he'd actually endured, or if he just didn't like to dwell on it after Dr. Matthews forced him to dredge up the memories.

I looked at my watch; we still had over three hours of travel. I fondled Al's cheek and brushed a kiss on the top of his sleeping head, then contentedly sighed and reached for my novel.

* * *

The taxi pulled up in front of our home, where my parent's rental car was parked in the driveway. Al froze as soon as his feet hit the pavement; I quickly paid the cab fare. The driver placed our suitcases on the sidewalk at Al's feet, only giving one curious glance before he got back in the cab and drove away. As if rooted to the ground, Al still stood with his back to me, facing the front porch of the bungalow. 

I lightly touched his shoulder. "Al? Baby, is something wrong?"

He turned to face me with tears shining in his eyes, as he smiled, "It's just the same. It's just like I remember it."

I saw Mom peeking through the front room curtains at the same moment Al did. He cleared his throat and surreptitiously wiped his eyes as he bent to pick up the suitcases. Though his step was not as sure as it had been before he left for Vietnam, he made it to the porch before my mother enthusiastically flung the door open.

"Albert!" she cried, enveloping him in a warm hug after he put down the suitcases. "It's so good to see you!" Over his shoulder, her eyes communicated her concern to me at Al's weight.

"Thanks, Lillian," Al smiled, slightly caught off-guard by the welcome. "It's good to see you, too." He shifted his weight as Mom turned to hug me. "Is Pete here, too?"

"Right inside, asleep in front of the TV. Go wake him up, dear. He'll be thrilled to see you," said Mom.

Al glanced uncertainly at me. I smiled reassuringly and took his hand. "We'll wake him up, Mom. I don't know how he could sleep through all the wonderful smells from the kitchen."

My father was snoring away on the couch, oblivious to the loud Western on the television. Al looked even smaller next to his large frame. I reached over and gently shook Dad awake.

"This is a fine welcome, isn't it?" I teased.

"Beth! Hi, sweetie! Did you have a good flight?"

"Just fine. And yours?"

"Typical. Long and boring." Dad sat up with a yawn and noticed Al standing behind my shoulder. "Al! How are you, son?" He energetically pumped Al's arm. "Gee, you've lost a lot of weight. We'll have to do something about that, right, Lil?"

Mom simultaneously laughed politely and glared at Dad for mentioning Al's condition. Al discerned the scolding look and hurried to continue the conversation.

"I'm looking forward to it. It smells delicious. What is it?"

"Beef stew," Mom answered. "It still needs to cook a while." She gestured for Al to sit.

I sneaked out to retrieve the suitcases from the doorway and place them in a corner of our bedroom. I came back as Dad was telling Al how good it was to have him home. I saw Mom beckoning me to join her in the kitchen, so I left them together.

"Beth, he's so thin!" Mom wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron. "What did they do to him over there?"

I peeked to be sure neither of them was coming near the kitchen before I answered her. "I don't know exactly what happened," I whispered. "I wrote to you most of what I did know, and that was judging from what I could physically see on his body and what the doctors told me."

Mom nodded. "I saw the scars on his wrist when he shook your father's hand. But he hasn't told you anything?"

I shook my head. "He talked to the psychiatrist at Bethesda, but he won't tell me what the VC did to him."

"Maybe he'll open up when he settles in."

"I hope so," I sighed. "It's like he's got some sort of wall up when I try to discuss Vietnam with him. I don't know why he thinks he has to protect me from what happened to him."

Mom looked thoughtful for several breaths before she spoke. "I think it may be because it's what little control he has over what happened. You first saw him weak and unconscious in a hospital bed, right? I know that's not how Al would have wanted to greet you. And then, on top of that, he had to talk about what happened with a stranger. My guess is he may want things to settle down to normal. You know and I know that you're strong enough to share what happened to him, but I don't think he's ready to admit that. By keeping you from knowing what he went through, he probably feels in charge of his life again."

"That makes sense." I considered what she'd said, and then I chuckled, "You must've been reading a lot of Dear Abby, Mom. That was professional advice if ever I heard any."

She laughed too and hugged me. "Just hang in there, Beth."

* * *

"More coffee, Al?" Mom asked. She'd taken over the role of hostess after dinner, waiting on us, allowing me to spend every moment with my husband. We were in the living room, my parents on the sofa, Al and I in an oversized armchair. 

"No, thank you, Lillian." Al's hand traced circles on my back.

"It's so good to have you home, Al. Beth really missed you."

Al slipped his other arm around my waist. "I missed her so much it hurt."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his shoulder. "But you're home now."

He bent his head and deeply breathed in the scent of my hair. His hand strayed from my waist to slide up my ribs, but with a barely audible sigh, he returned it. I opened my eyes and realized the cause of his hesitation.

Mom smiled at us with tears in her eyes. She coughed and patted Dad on the knee. "Well, Pete, we better go back to the hotel if we're going to get enough rest. We've got to pick up Janie and Frank when their plane lands in the morning."

"Hmmm?" Dad looked confused for a second. "Oh! Yeah, you're right." He stretched and yawned widely, plainly acting. "Goodnight, Beth, Al."

He took Mom's hand. She winked and smiled at me as they headed to the door. Al and I followed, distributing and receiving hugs and kisses as they walked outside. Al stood behind me in the doorway, his arms linked around my waist, as we waved goodbye and watched them drive away in the dusk.

He kissed my neck as I closed and locked the door. I turned to face my husband, giggling and wrapping my arms around him. "Could they be any more obvious?"

"Could we?" he countered with a chuckle. Taking my hand, he led me to the couch and sat down next to me, taking me into a passionate embrace. He kissed me sweetly and deeply, now allowing his hand to travel freely.

"Oh, Al, I missed you," I murmured when I could speak again. I just wanted to melt into him. It didn't seem like I could ever get close enough to him. It was all I could do not to protest when he pulled away and crossed to the record player. My heart skipped a beat when he started playing our song.

"Dance with me, Mrs. Calavicci?" he asked, huskily, over the sound of Ray Charles' voice, his hand extended.

I rose and slipped into my customary place in his arms as if the last time we'd danced had only been days ago, rather than years. He held me close, breathing hard and very near tears. The curl near my ear tickled my face from the motion of his breath as he sighed my name.

"Beth...oh my beautiful, beautiful Beth..."

I kissed his neck, his cheek, his lips, wanting nothing but to touch him and taste him. My hands moved from his shoulders to take in the silkiness of his hair. His hands, meanwhile, cupped my face as he leaned in for a kiss, eight years of pent-up desire in his eyes.

We moved to the couch again, locked in an embrace, as "Georgia" came to an end and the next record fell into place. The needle produced the romantic tones of The Carpenters' "We've Only Just Begun" as Al unfastened the top buttons on my blouse and began tracking kisses downward from my neck. I closed my eyes to the delicious sensation of his warm lips against my skin as his fingers worked the rest of the buttons free, and his hands caressed my abdomen. He slid the blouse off, and stroked my arms and back. Slowly, he kissed his way back up to meet my lips.

"You're so beautiful, Beth," he murmured. He tucked my hair behind my ear and nibbled on my earlobe. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world, and I'm lucky to have you," he whispered in my ear. "Oh, God, how I love you, Beth." He trailed kisses from my ear back to my lips.

As the kiss deepened and intensified, I unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it and stripped off the T-shirt underneath, and I pulled him close, caressing his back.

_Oh, dear God._

I couldn't hold back the horrified gasp as my fingers encountered the scars from the torture and beatings he'd endured, and I started crying as I traced the length of the ragged crisscrossing lines.

"Al...oh, Al." I buried my face in his neck.

"They don't hurt anymore, Beth. I promise," he whispered. He lifted my head and stroked away the tears with his thumbs, bending close to kiss me.

I couldn't stop crying. "Oh, baby, what did they do to you?"

Al tightly embraced me, then held me at arm's length and gazed intently into my eyes. "It doesn't matter now, Beth. I have you, honey. All that matters now is us."

I wiped my eyes and nodded. "I'm sorry."

He suddenly pulled me against him once more and rocked gently, "Oh, honey, don't ever be sorry for caring about me."

"I love you, Al."

He captured my mouth in his and passionately kissed me. "God, I've missed hearing you say my name that way." His breathing was getting ragged. "I want you so badly, Beth."

"I want you, too, Al."

Pressed against each other, we stood again, never once breaking the rhythm of fervent kisses as we moved toward the bedroom.

* * *

I rolled over and woke up when my hand encountered empty sheets instead of Al's shoulder. I switched on the lamp and raised my head to glance about our room, but Al was nowhere to be found. The warm memory of our lovemaking and the passion and devotion I'd seen in his eyes before falling asleep in his arms coursed through my mind. For the first time in weeks there had been true peace on my husband's face. But now something had troubled him enough to make him get up. Concerned, I slipped out of bed and threw on my robe. 

I found him sitting at the dining table with a pile of letters scattered in front of him. Clad only in a pair of pajama pants, he was absently winding a red ribbon around his fingers as he read, and he jumped when I walked up and rubbed his bare arm.

"Beth? What are you doing up?" he asked, momentarily covering my hand with his own.

"Looking for you. What are _you_ doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," he shrugged with a wry smile. He waved at a chair as he tossed the ribbon to the side. "Have a seat, honey."

I grinned and pointed accusingly at the scattered letters. "I was going to give those to you later. I see you've been snooping."

"Well, they were addressed to me," Al grinned back. He lifted the steaming mug that rested next to his hand. "I made some coffee, do you want some?"

"Oh, that'll do wonders for someone who couldn't sleep," I teased as I moved toward the kitchen to fix myself a mug. When I came back, Al was engrossed in another letter. Sitting next to him at the table, I watched his face as he read it. With each stroke of the pen, I had dreamed and hoped for this moment. Each letter gave me a chance to write down old memories of our life together before the war. I had jotted down details of my everyday activities and updates on newspaper headlines, hoping to ease the chasm of timelessness from the POW camp for him. And, most importantly, I had expressed my dreams of the moment when we would be reunited. Now Al was finally able to share in them. He blinked and looked lovingly at me when he was done with the letter.

"How many have you read so far?"

"I guess about a third. I've been up for a while," he confessed.

"Goodness, Al, I started writing those over five years ago!"

He only shrugged and reached for another one. I sipped my coffee as I watched him, studied him, the flex in his biceps and triceps as he picked up a letter, the movement in his neck as he swallowed coffee, the softness around his eyes as he read.

Several letters later Al stared intently at me. "Beth, did you mean what you said in these letters?"

"Every word, my love." I took his hand. The sudden look of relief on his face puzzled me. "Why did you look worried when you asked that?"

Al busied himself with straightening the unread letters. "Worried? No, just tired, I guess."

I reached over to grab his chin between my thumb and forefinger, and turned his face toward me. "You looked distinctly relieved when I told you that I meant what I wrote. Why? And why would you even have to ask me that?"

Al looked in my eyes and sighed. "I've been having the same nightmare for the past few weeks. It's so real, it's almost like an actual memory."

"Well, baby, you know Dr. Matthews said you'd still have nightmares about Vietnam periodically."

"It's not about Vietnam. It's about you."

A chill ran down my spine at his words, but I waited for him to continue.

"Maybe it's more about me, actually. I don't know," Al sighed again. He cleared his throat before he went on. "But it begins when I'm in the hospital. The chaplain comes in with a letter. The letter's from you and it tells me that you thought I had died and you...remarried. And that you didn't want to have any further contact with me or ever see me again. Then he shows me the paperwork that declared me dead."

He stared down at the table then, picking up the abandoned ribbon again and twisting it in his hands. "Your signature's on the papers, Beth. I just stare at it, and then I start to run. Suddenly I'm not in the hospital anymore, but in a maze and I'm running and sobbing and calling for you, but I can't ever find you and I can't find my way out. And...and then I wake up."

"Did you have the dream tonight?" I asked, shuddering mentally at how close Al's nightmare could actually have been to coming true if I hadn't been visited by the angel. Of course, I couldn't tell Al about that. Especially not now.

He nodded in response to my question, meeting my eyes uneasily before looking at the table again. "Yeah, it was pretty intense tonight, and I couldn't go back to sleep. I watched you sleep for a while; I thought maybe that would help, but it didn't. You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you, so I figured I'd get up and play solitaire or something. While I was looking around for a deck of cards, I found these letters and started to read them. I know this sounds nuts, but the dream was so real, it felt like it had actually happened or could have happened or . . . something, I dunno. That's why I needed to know if you meant these words."

I left my chair and knelt next to his, gripping his arm. "Albert, look at me, look in my eyes. Every single word came from my heart. Next to our wedding day, the happiest day of my life was when I got the call that you were coming home."

Al bent his head to mine and stroked the back of my head. "Thank you, Beth. I just needed to hear that." Pulling away, he rose and walked to the window, looking up at the stars. A melancholy expression crossed his face and he folded his arms, rubbing his palms against his biceps. I stood as well, but didn't move away from the chair he'd just vacated.

"That was one thing they couldn't take away from me. Even in the tiger cage, the stars were always there, and you were on the other side of the stars. It was you that got me through, Beth," he said, turning to face me. "I knew you were waiting for me. I held on to our love through those years, praying that I could make it just one more day to get home to you. Just one more day. That's what kept me alive no matter what they did."

I hurried over and wrapped my arms around him—the grown man who ached for love like the little lost orphan boy he'd once been. "And you are home, Al. You're home, and alive, and well, and I am never going to leave you. I love you!"

Al buried his face in my hair. "I love you so much, Beth. Do you know that?"

"Of course I do. You came back for me, didn't you?" I pulled his head down for a kiss. "Come on," I took his hand. "Let's go outside and look at the stars. Together."


	9. Thursday, November 27, 1975

**Thursday, November 27, 1975**

Al and I spent the morning in bed, cuddling and kissing, and telling each other (with words and otherwise) how thankful we were to be together. 

"I wish we hadn't agreed to do the Thanksgiving thing now," I said, my head pillowed on his chest. With my fingertips, I gingerly traced a scar that originated beneath my cheek and ran diagonally towards his shoulder.

"It does put a bit of a crimp on the homecoming activities you'd planned for me," he grinned. He slid his hand along my back.

"Of course, you haven't fully regained your strength yet," I teased him. "My mother's cooking could be just the thing you need."

Al considered that. "Hmm. Yeah, I think that's definitely worth taking a break to eat for." He laughed and kissed my forehead. "What time are they coming over again?"

"Twelve-thirty, I think."

Al lifted my head to deliver a passionate kiss. "Plenty of time."

* * *

"Lord, we thank You for bringing us all together today to celebrate family, and the gifts You've given us. But most of all, we thank You for bringing Albert home, and for restoring him into our family. Bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies, and bless those who prepared it. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen." 

"Amen," we chorused, crossing ourselves.

I embraced my husband before we sat at the table. My sister and her husband, as well as my brother, were there, along with my parents. Mom had outdone herself on the meal, and Janie had fallen in line with Mom's admonition that I was not to concern myself with anything but Al. They'd refused to let me help in the kitchen, and banished me to the living room with the men...and the endless stream of Thanksgiving Day football games.

If it hadn't been for the sheer joy I got from being near Al, I would have been bored out of my mind. Still, spending time pressed against him was worth any number of football games. While Al laughed, talked, and joked with my father, brother, and brother-in-law, cheered the action on the gridiron along with them, he kept his arms around me. Rob didn't even tease me when I fell asleep on Al's chest, though in years past, such an action on my part would have been cause for torment from my older brother.

"So, Al, what's next for you?" Frank, my brother-in-law, asked as he passed the bowl of mashed potatoes to Janie.

"I've got a couple more weeks of leave, and then they're promoting me and reinstating me to active duty."

"Congratulations, Al!" Dad said. "To the new Lieutenant Commander."

"Commander," I gently corrected.

Frank nodded, "Yes, I would expect they would advance you after being...I mean, after what you..." He trailed off uncertainly.

"Thank you, Frank," Al quickly interjected. "Also, in a few months, I can expect a transfer."

"Oh, I do hope you two are going to be closer to home this time," said Mom.

I smiled and passed the bread to her.

"Aren't you going to miss Balboa, Beth?" Janie asked.

I paused, a forkful of potatoes halfway to my mouth. "A bit," I confessed, and set the fork down in my plate. "But wherever Al is transferred, that's where I'm going to go, too. And it's not like there's a shortage of naval hospitals."

Al rubbed my shoulder. "Besides, when the children start coming along, Beth's going to need to take a leave anyway."

I nodded, "I might even retire from the Navy."

Rob froze in midbite, Janie beamed, Frank gawked, and my parents' silverware clattered to their plates in unison.

"Beth, are you pregnant?"

I laughed. "No, not yet. But Al and I have been discussing it for weeks now, and we decided we want to start trying."

Frank regarded Al curiously. "I thought you didn't want to drag kids around the country."

"Can't a fella change his mind?" Al speared a piece of turkey and ate it. He winked at me and reached to squeeze my hand.

"Well, I'm just pleased as punch," my mother said. "It's about time one of you started giving me some grandchildren. No one at this table is getting any younger."

Janie and I exchanged rolled eyes as she carried on. When she finished with us, she turned on our brother.

"And, Rob, when are you going to settle down and get married? Who's going to carry on the family name?"

Mom was on a roll now.

"When I meet the right girl, Mom."

Before a full-on argument could start, Dad stood up and clinked his glass with his knife.

"I believe a toast is in order," he said, as if the intervening conversation had never taken place. "To _Commander_ Calavicci." He grinned and raised his glass.

We all followed suit. Peace restored, we went back to the delicious meal, and safer avenues of conversation.

* * *

Al fed me a forkful of the leftover pumpkin pie we were sharing. Everyone had finally left—thankfully no more awkward conversations had come up—and Al and I were relaxing on the floor in front of the fire. 

I leaned back against his chest and tilted my head up to see his face. "I should have known better. This is how we should have spent our Thanksgiving, just you and me."

Al shook his head and kissed me. "Thanksgiving is all about big family gatherings. Today was great."

"Even with the grandchildren speech?"

"Even with the grandchildren speech."

"Poor Rob."

Al nodded and chuckled. "Maybe when I get back in the swing of things, get to know who's who around here, I can take him out to meet some girls."

"You mean we can. Don't think you're going anywhere without me where other women are."

Fully serious, Al said, "Beth, I don't want to go anywhere without you. Anywhere." He lifted my hair and kissed the back of my neck. "I should never have gone back to Vietnam when you didn't want me to, Beth. I am so sorry."

I turned to face him and placed a finger over his lips. "How many times do I have to tell you? That's behind us now. You came home to me, that's all that matters."

"You're amazing, Elizabeth Calavicci. Absolutely amazing."

"What's amazing is that we managed to at least keep the space program a secret. I can't believe we told them we're going to be trying for a baby. Do you know the nagging phone calls we've just opened ourselves up to?"

"It made Lillian's day, didn't it?"

"I guess it did at that," I grinned. "Just remember when she calls for the fiftieth time to find out if I'm pregnant yet that you were the one who brought it up."

He laughed and took a sip of wine.

"So when do you think we'll have to move so you can start training? February?"

"I still have to pass the physical at the end of the year," Al reminded me.

"You'll pass it."

"After today, I think I'm well on my way toward the minimum weight, at least," he laughed, patting his stomach.

I kissed him, and then stood, stretching.

"I think I'm going to head for bed now."

"Already? Are you tired?"

I grinned seductively. "No, I'm not tired at all. Care to join me? We can work on building up your endurance."

Al scrambled to his feet, abandoning the empty pie plate on the rug.


	10. Saturday, December 18, 1976

**Saturday, December 18, 1976**

"Al, would you bring me some tomatoes, please?" I asked as I broke the lettuce in the salad bowl.

Al placed a small bowl of cherry tomatoes on the counter. "This looks like it's going to be the best salad you've ever made," he said.

"You always say that," I chuckled, swatting his hand away from the tomatoes.

"I know," Al grinned. "Because I like my reward for the compliment." He leaned forward and kissed me. As we pulled apart, his hand shot out and snatched a cherry tomato.

"Do you like the reward, or the way it distracts me so you can steal a taste?" I teased. Al's grin grew even more mischievous as he popped the tomato in his mouth.

Shaking my head at him, I reached for the bottle of Italian dressing Al always made especially for me. There wasn't a store in the world that could stock salad dressing as good as his. It was one of the many little things I had missed while he was a POW.

The timer dinged. "Lasagna's ready," Al announced. He lifted the steaming pan from the oven and placed it on the stove to cool next to the bread whose fragrance had been filling the kitchen.

I'd just finished with the salad and was wiping my hands on a dish towel when Al came up from behind and wrapped his arms around me. "Do you want me to light the candles?" he asked as he nuzzled my neck.

"Mmmm, that would be lovely," I murmured. I twisted in his arms to kiss him.

"You know," Al said between kisses, "I could stand here all night like this. . . . But then . . . all your hard work would go to waste. Not to mention," he added, caressing my enormous stomach, "I think Little One would be quite upset if we skipped supper, don't you?"

He helped me bring the dinner into the dining room, or, more specifically, allowed me to follow him with the bread. The light from the tall candles cast a warm glow on the table.

"Oh, Al," I smiled.

Al had tracked down an old-fashioned glass milk bottle and put it in a crystal ice bucket as if it were a bottle of the finest champagne.

"And you say _I'm_ an incurable romantic?"

He shrugged with the impish grin back on his face as he kissed my cheek and pushed my chair in. Momentarily acting as waiter, Al filled each of our glasses with milk before taking his seat.

"To Little One," he toasted, raising the flute. We clinked glasses and took a sip.

"To Apollo," I added. Al hesitated before touching his glass to mine.

We ate in silence for several minutes. Growing concerned, I touched his hand. "Honey, what is it?"

He gave me a wan smile. "It's nothing, Beth."

"Don't give me that, Al Calavicci. You've been chattering all evening, and then you clam up when I mention Apollo? What's wrong?"

"Well, it's just . . I . . ." Al paused, trying to find the exact words. "I'm not exactly crazy about the timing of this mission."

"Timing? Al, you'll get to be in space on Christmas Eve. I wish I could see how beautiful that'll be."

"That's it, honey. I won't be with you this Christmas."

"Yes, you will." I reached for his hand. "Maybe not physically, but you'll be here. And you better believe that I'll be right in front of that TV when they televise your mission."

The baby kicked. I guided Al's hand to my swollen stomach so he could feel it as well, covering his hand with my own. We shared a smile as the baby kicked again. "Both of us will be here waiting to celebrate Christmas with you when you get back," I told him.

"I love you, Beth." Al kissed me passionately.

Dinner was forgotten for several minutes.

* * *

As we washed and put away the dishes, Al grew serious again, and no amount of my teasing could draw him out of his somber mood. He didn't explain it until we were relaxing on the couch in front of the fire. 

Al took both of my hands in his. "Beth, are you sure you'll be okay while I'm gone?" he asked.

"Of course I'm sure," I smiled reassuringly at him. "I'm not due for almost a monthyou'll be back way before then. Plus, Sally is right next door if I need anything."

"I still worry about you," said Al, pulling me into his arms. I snuggled my head against his shoulder. He kissed my temple and his hand drifted down to caress my stomach and our unborn child.

"You worry too much," I said. "If anyone's going to worry, it'll be mewith you leaving tomorrow, and the launch in a few days."

I looked into the eyes of the man I had fallen in love with almost sixteen years ago. A brief image of the young ensign I had met at the Officers' Club during the New Year's Eve dance ringing in 1961 passed across my mind. Al's eyes had never changed over all the years. Oh, they often darkened with painful memories, but they still sparkled with the same spirit. I remembered his rare insecurity as he'd approached me to ask me to dance. I never told him how I'd seen through his confident façade, but there had been a subtle difference in his manner at that moment that caught my attention. I'd had my eye on a lieutenant, but once Al swept me into his arms to the sound of "Georgia on My Mind," I forgot anyone but him. If I had any doubts, our first kiss dispelled them. And now that smart-alecky ensign was a commander on his way to the moon.

"Promise me two things," I said.

"Anything, baby." Al ran his fingers through my hair.

"Be careful."

"And the second thing?" asked Al. He planted a tender kiss on my lips.

"Enjoy yourself up there in the stars."

* * *

"Then the second stage rocket separates, and we'll be in orbit." 

I was propped up against a stack of pillows in our bed. Al was curled up on his side next to me, his head balanced on his hand, as he talked to the baby. My pajama top was bunched up under my breasts, and he rubbed my bare stomach as he spoke.

"We'll orbit for a week, and then we re-enter the earth's atmosphere and splash down."

"Don't you think it's a little early for an aeronautics lesson?" I teased.

Al stuck his tongue out at me, and resumed his one-sided conversation, "And then I'll be back home with you and your mommy." He leaned forward and kissed a small bulge where the baby was poking me with an elbow or foot. The bulge receded and re-emerged a few inches further over.

"I can't decide if I look like something out of a horror movie or like I swallowed a beach ball."

"Neither," Al said, stroking my pregnant belly with both hands. "You look gorgeous."

"Was that gorged or gorgeous?"

Al sat up and adjusted my top so that it covered my stomach again and took my shoulders in his hands. Between kisses, he said, "Gorgeous. Radiant. Beautiful. Breathtaking. Take your choice."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," I smiled. I pulled his head to mine and kissed him deeply.

When we broke apart, he said in a sensuous voice, "Baby, if we only could, I'd take you now."

"If we could, I'd have already taken you," I countered.

His eyes and smile widened and he kissed me again, ardently. The baby fairly danced within my womb, and I guided his hands to the spot so he could feel it as we kissed.

"I'm going to miss this," he said when we finally broke apart. "Being with you every night, sharing the life that's growing inside you."

I nodded, stroking his hands that still rested on my belly. "At least I get to keep part of you with me."

"Don't worry, babe, I'm taking you to the stars with me, too," assured Al. He took my right hand and pressed it against his chest. I felt his heart beating, steadily thumping, its rate increasing as he kissed me. "You'll be right here."

* * *

_**Author's Note:** Please note that while the Apollo missions actually ended well before this, I couldn't bear for Al not to have the astronaut experience he recounted in "Disco Inferno," so I've invented an extra Apollo mission._


	11. Friday, December 24, 1976

**Friday, December 24, 1976**

Despite my reassurances, the first half of the mission found me moping around the house. It was almost as if Al were M.I.A. again. _But he's not_, I had to keep telling myself, _he's right up there with the stars_. Each night as I laid in bed, I kept the shade up so I could look up at the stars. It made me feel closer to Al. The baby's kicking helped my spirits, too. Like I had told him the night before he left, a part of Al was with me at all times. _And you're making me black and blue_. Our child definitely had Al's energetic personality.

"You're eager to meet your daddy, aren't you?" I asked my bulging middle. A sharp kick answered me. "Ow. I'll take that as a yes."

I paused in decorating the Christmas tree Sally and Rick had delivered earlier to check my watch. Almost time. I switched off the radio, silencing Bing Crosby's "White Christmas" in favor of Walter Cronkite's news broadcast on the television. I left the tree and sat in the chair that had belonged to Al's father. One of Al's uncles had salvaged it after Mr. Calavicci's death and left it to Al in his will. It had been his father's favorite chair, which made it even more special to Al, and hence, to me. I wrapped Al's flight jacket around my shoulders in lieu of a blanket and deeply inhaled the lingering scent of his aftershave.

The introductory music faded as Walter Cronkite started his opening remarks, giving a brief overview of the mission. "Tonight we will be sharing in a very special event. The Apollo astronauts will read from the book of Genesis on this Christmas Eve." Photos of each astronaut flashed on the screen as Cronkite continued. "Captain Phillip Rains will begin, followed by Commanders Albert Calavicci and Timothy Sheldon. As you know, Captain Rains and his crew have been orbiting the Moon this Christmas week. And now we bring you live to the Christmas Eve broadcast from Apollo."

The scene changed to a view of the planet from space as Phillip began reading from Genesis. "In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth." Phillip continued reading for ten verses; his voice in combination with the photo of the Earth was very stirring. Even more moving to me, though, was when Al took his turn to read.

"Hear that? That's your daddy," I said to the baby as I rubbed my tummy.

Tim read his section of the passage last. The first verse of "Joy to the World" played before Walter Cronkite reappeared on the screen. He briefly pressed a hand to his earpiece before speaking. "Ladies and gentlemen, NASA has just informed me that the astronauts will now deliver a personal Christmas message to their families and friends." The picture changed to the flickering transmission from the Apollo capsule.

Phillip, Tim, and Al's faces reflected their excitement. I couldn't help myself. Like a child, I moved from the chair to sit on the floor in front of the screen, my hand extended toward the image of my husband. After Tim wished his wife a Merry Christmas it should have been Al's turn, but Phillip went next. Al looked as surprised as I was that he was being given the honor of delivering his message last. Phillip finally offered an explanation as he concluded his Christmas message.

"I know Commander Calavicci is confused about why I've decided to switch our plans and have him go last." Phillip gave Al a wink. "The reason is that Al and his wife are apart this Christmas because of this mission, and they're expecting their first child in just a few weeks. So we're giving Al the final moments for his message to his family."

Al was speechless for a moment before he recovered and addressed the camera, and me. "Beth, uh, you were right about how beautiful it would be up here. I wish you could be with me to see it." He laid a hand over his heart and paused, remembering that the entire nation was watching in addition to me. His message remained reserved, but his eyes spoke volumes. "I'll be home in a few days, honey, and then we can have our Christmas together. Until then, look for me in the stars. Merry Christmas, Beth."

"Merry Christmas." I ignored Cronkite's wrap-up and moved to the window. I tucked Al's jacket tighter around me, cradled my belly, and stared up at the stars.


	12. Wednesday, December 29, 1976

**Wednesday, December 29, 1976**

Apollo had safely splashed down a couple of days ago. After debriefings and press conferences, Al was flying home. His flight was scheduled to arrive in the early afternoon. I spent the morning arranging and rearranging the festive displays in the house. I must have circled the tree ten times to make sure each individual strand of tinsel was in the best position.

I was too excited to eat lunch, but I forced myself to down a sandwich and some soup for Little One's benefit. I had wanted to meet Al at the airport, but he wouldn't hear of it. It would be too long of a drive for me, he'd said on the phone. _"I'd feel better if you stayed home. Rick can pick me up." Al ignored my protests. "Don't overwork yourself," he said. "I know you. And don't cook anythingI'm taking you out tonight."_

I looked at my watch. 1:30. Al's flight was scheduled to come in at 2:45. I glanced out the window and saw Sally and Rick standing on their front porch. Rick was getting ready to leave. I threw on a coat and waddled next door as quickly as my ninth month stomach would allow.

"Hi, Beth," they greeted me. Sally brushed a strand of blond hair out of her eyes before giving me a hug.

"I really appreciate this, Rick," I said. "But I still think I could do it myself."

"No way," said Rick in his Southern drawl. "Al would kill me. He practically made me sell my soul that I wouldn't let you go."

I laughed, "Okay, okay. Do me a favor, though. Give these to Al for me." I reached into my coat pocket and dropped half a dozen Hershey's Kisses into Rick's hand.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Well, I figured you'd rather have me send my kisses to Al like that."

"This is true," laughed Rick, tucking the silver wrapped chocolates into his jacket's outer pocket. "Well, I better get going. See y'all in a couple hours."

"Bye, hon. Don't eat Al's kisses," Sally warned.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he called as he backed the Chevy down the driveway.

"So, how are you doing, mommy?" she asked when Rick was gone.

"Pretty good. But I think I've got a little gymnast inside of me." I drew my breath in as a strong kick landed in my side.

"Beth? Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I nodded. I gasped again as a sharp pain struck. It lingered for a long moment before subsiding.

Sally led me to the porch swing. "Sit here and catch your breath."

"Must've eaten too quickly," I said lightly, as she held the swing steady for me to ease into. Actually, I was scared. The pain had almost doubled me over.

"I'll get you a glass of water." Sally disappeared into the house. I heard her moving about the kitchen. After a few minutes, she returned with a tall glass of water for me.

"Thanks, Sally," I said. I took a sip and a deep breath. "Sorry to make you go to such trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," she assured me. "Besides, I promised Al I'd look after you while he was gone."

"Just how many promises did he exact out of you two behind my back?"

"I can't tell you."

"Let me guess, he made you promise not to tell me if I asked."

"You got it."

I shook my head and laughed.

"So, do you know where he's taking you for dinner tonight?"

"Not a clue. But it's got to be relatively close. He nearly had a coronary when I said I'd pick him up at the airport."

"Well, it _is_ a long drive."

"Oh, you're as overprotective as he is." My attempt at levity failed as the glass suddenly fell from my hand and shattered on the porch. Another sharp pain had struck, and this one _was_ sufficient to double me over.

"Beth! What's wrong?" Sally's hand was trembling as she gripped my shoulder.

"Nothing, nothing. I, uh, I think it might be a contraction."

"A contraction? Ohmigosh, Beth, are you going into labor?"

"I think so," I nodded. I began to laugh nervously. "Al will be so disappointed. I virtually promised him he'd be back in plenty of time for the birth."

"Ha, ha," said Sally, dryly, "he still may be. You're not necessarily going to pop this kid out. My sister-in-law was in labor for over 36 hours. Do you have a bag packed?"

"Uh-uh. We thought we had a few weeks yet. I was going to put one together this weekend."

"Okay, let's go to your house. We'll pack a bag real quick and then I'll drive you to the hospital," said Sally. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders and walked me next door. Once we were inside, she made me sit on the sofa.

"But I'm not helpless," I protested.

"I know," she said, handing me a pen and stationery tablet. "You're going to write a note to Rick and Al telling them what's going on so they can head straight to the hospital when they get back."

Sally had a bag packed for me before I finished the last sentence. I taped the note to the front door while she headed for the car with the bag.

"I hope you've got your keys," she said, when I turned to follow her.

I tossed the keys to her, and she hurried to unlock the door and toss the bag inside. She held her hand out toward me to help me in the car, but I'd barely made it to the car when I had another contraction and she had to help keep me upright instead. I clung to her with one hand and the open door with the other until it passed.

Sally helped me into the car as soon as I could move again. I smiled at her confident handling of the situation and only hoped I could return the favor some time.

"You hanging in there?" she asked me as we drove down the road.

"Yeah. They're still pretty far apart. I hope this means the baby's going to wait for Al."

Sally patted my hand. "Maybe it will. Listen, is there anyone I should call once we get you settled in at the hospital?"

"Um, my mom, I guess. I'll write her number down for you."

In just a few minutes, we were at the hospital. I'd never seen Sally move so fast. Within seconds, she had my bag in hand and was helping me inside.

"May I help you?" asked the receptionist.

"She's in labor," Sally said.

"Approximately when did labor begin?" the receptionist turned to me.

"This morning, I guess. I didn't really think it was anything but the baby kicking or indigestion. I guess my water must have broken while I was in the shower," I answered, a little embarrassed at my own ignorance.

"And how far apart are the contractions now?"

"About eight minutes, I think. Definitely less than ten," I said.

"Okay, please have a seat over there and fill out these forms and I'll have someone with you shortly." She handed over a clipboard and pen.

Sally and I quickly finished the forms, and she brought them back to the receptionist. I looked at my watch. It was after two o'clock. As much as I wanted the labor to be short, I prayed that the baby wouldn't come until Al arrived.

"Okay, she just called for them to bring you up to Maternity," said Sally when she returned to my side.

I nodded and caught my breath as another contraction hit. Almost as soon as it finished, an orderly appeared in front of me with a wheelchair.

The orderly brought me up to the maternity ward, where three nurses were waiting to get me settled. Before the next contraction came, they had me in bed in a hospital gown, with a glucose IV and a bracelet.

I must have been annoying Sally beyond belief, though she certainly didn't show it. Every few minutes I asked her what time it was. Around 2:30, I began to get worried. The contractions were less than five minutes apart. If Al's flight was even still on schedule, he wouldn't touch down for another fifteen minutes. Then he and Rick would need to get his bags and drive home. That could be at least 3:15. Then he'd still have to come here. And neither he nor Rick had any idea something was wrong.

"Can I get you anything, Beth?" Sally asked.

"Yes . . . Al." I was getting irritable from the seemingly ceaseless pains.

"Oh, hon." Sally brushed my hair back as she handed me a small cup of ice chips. They wouldn't let me have anything to drink, so I had to make do with letting the ice melt on my tongue.

Trying to change the subject and distract me, Sally commented, "Your mom said she'd be here early tomorrow. She's very excited."

"Did you call the airport?" I asked, ignoring her. "See if they can page Rick."

"Beth, I already tried. They're swamped. They had some sort of spill on one of the runways, and they're trying to shuffle the planes around. I don't think the President could get a page through."

That wasn't what I wanted to hear. The mess would only delay things further. Seeing the look on my face, she took my hand and tried to calm me down. She had her work cut out for her, though. I was hurting, I was scared, and I only wanted Al. To top it all off, the intervals between contractions kept shrinking. I snatched a handful of the sheets and twisted them in my fist as my breath hissed between my teeth in my attempts to deal with the pain.

A little after three, Dr. Winter, my obstetrician, came in.

"How are we doing, Beth?" she asked.

"It's getting hard to tell the space between contractions," I said.

"Okay, let me have a look," she said, snapping on a pair of sterile gloves and examining me. "Yes, you're dilating nicely. It shouldn't be too much longer." Dr. Winter tossed the gloves in the trash can and washed her hands again. She stopped by my bedside, noting my anxiousness. "What's the matter?"

"She's afraid Al won't make it back in time for the birth," Sally offered.

"Where is he?" Dr. Winter asked.

"Hopefully on his way home from the airport," I answered.

"Oh, yes, I saw the telecast Christmas Eve. You mean they didn't send him home till today? They splashed down a couple of days ago." Dr. Winter was surprised. "Don't fret, though. Al will get here as soon as he can, Beth, I'm sure of that. Don't worry. We'll take good care of you."

After she left, Sally tried to distract me by turning on the television in the room, but it was no use.

"I can't have this baby without Al here!"

Sally unsuccessfully attempted to hide a glance at her watch. Without even asking her, I knew that things were certainly being cut close. I turned my head away so she wouldn't see the hurt in my eyes.

Before long I was being wheeled into the delivery room, and still no sign of Al. I was close to tears from the pain and disappointment.

Dr. Winter leaned close. "Beth, I know you're upset that your husband isn't here, but you need to focus on delivering this baby, okay?"

I nodded, and tried to close my mind to everything around me except Dr. Winter's voice. However, I still looked longingly toward the doors as they put my feet into the stirrups and draped the green surgical blanket over my knees. I'd decided to have the baby by natural childbirth, without any drugs, but I'd counted on Al being there with me.

"Beth, in just a second I'm going to want you to push, all right? Ready? Push, Beth, push!"

I pushed and strained until Dr. Winter told me to rest. "Another couple of pushes and your baby should be here, okay, Beth?"

I nodded breathlessly and blinked my eyes furiously to dispel the tears of pain. One of the nurses wiped my forehead as I waited for the next opportunity to push.

"Okay, Beth, this may be the one. Push."

I pushed with all my might. _Al, where are you?_ I silently screamed in my mind. The empathic crease in the nurse's eyes showed that I hadn't been as silent as I thought.

"I know, honey. It's all right." She patted my hand.

I turned my head to look toward the doors, straining to listen for Al's footsteps. My concentration quickly shifted as I was hit by another contraction, with its shooting pain and compulsion to push. Despite my attempts at Lamaze breathing, I couldn't contain my tears or the whimpering cry which emerged from my throat as the baby came closer to delivery. Perhaps foolishly, I hadn't expected it to hurt this much. I'd also planned on having my Lamaze coach with me. _God, please, I want Al._

"Okay, I've got the head. One more push, Beth."

"That's…what you said…the last time," I panted. I squeezed my eyes shut from the effort, trying to block out the blinding white pain.

"Come on, Beth. You're almost there. Push!"

Using what seemed to be my last ounce of strength and emitting a primal yell, I pushed. Dr. Winter cheered as the baby cried. "Good job, Beth! It's a girl. You've got a little girl."

I craned my head to see the baby, but all I could see were masked and gowned figures huddling around her. The cries filling the delivery room assured me that she was all right.

The door to the delivery room flew open and a harried, masked figure ran in. Flustered eyes locked with mine. "Beth!" Al was at my side in a flash. He yanked his mask down and showered kisses on my face, smoothing my sweaty hair back from my forehead. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. The airport was a disaster, and then we got your note. Oh, Beth, honey, I'm sorry I wasn't here for you. Is the baby okay?"

I nodded. "She's over there. They're cleaning her up."

"She? A girl? We had a girl?" Al moved toward the group as one of the nurses came forward with the baby. She placed the crying bundle in his arms and gently pushed him back towards me.

"_Buona sera, bambina. Che belleza!_" Al's eyes filled with tears as he looked down at her. The baby's wailing gradually ceased. "Oh, Beth, she's beautiful." Slowly, he tilted his arms so I could see her, getting a glimpse of damp black hair before he bent to kiss me.

I smiled and met his lips, but broke off with a gasp. "What's wrong?" Al asked, alarmed. "What is it?"

"It's just the placenta delivering," said Dr. Winter, trying to calm us both.

"I don't know," I panted. "It hurts like before."

Dr. Winter quickly examined me. "Well, I'll be . . . there's another one that wants to meet mom and dad."

"Another one?" Al and I chorused. A nurse quickly took the baby from him. I couldn't believe it. Twins. But I was so tired and hurting so badly I wasn't sure I could deal with another delivery.

I felt a hand slip into mine, and I looked up into Al's face. His dark eyes radiated love and concern.

"I'm right here, Beth. Just hang on to me. You can do this, sweetheart."

I squeezed Al's hand with a crushing grip and grunted in pain when Dr. Winter told me to push. My muscles screamed in agony and tears flowed down my face from the effort I was putting my sore body through.

"Beth, honey, you're doing great." My personal cheering section soothed my forehead with his trembling, free hand.

"I can't do this again," I sobbed.

"Shhh. Yes you can. Remember your breathing. _Hee-hee-hee…hee-hee-hee._ Breathe, honey, and it'll all be over in a few minutes. I'm right here, Beth, look at me," Al said. He took some gauze from a nurse and gently wiped the tears and perspiration from my face. "You can do it, Beth," he repeated. "That's my girl."

I shook my head. I was doubting the wisdom of my decision to deliver without an epidural now that I had to do it all again. Once had definitely been enough, and irrational terror suddenly swept over me. "I don't think I can, Al," I panted. "It hurts so much!"

Al smiled encouragingly at me, but a tinge of regret crept across his face as he spoke. "Sweetheart, I don't think you have a choice in this. This little one wants out."

Dr. Winter drew my attention back. "Okay, Beth, let's see if we can get the head free with this push. Ready? Push!"

I cried out in anguish as I pushed. Al's encouraging voice and tender touch helped me hang on. "Okay, she's got the head, Beth. You're almost there, angel."

"Make it stop hurting, Al. Please," I begged, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Al looked extremely distressed. "I wish I could, baby."

I shook my head from side to side and tried unsuccessfully to block out the pain like I had before. I kept a death grip on Al's hand, and had to have been grinding bone against bone, but his voice remained even, calm and soothing.

With one last push that drained the final reserves of my strength, our second child was born and immediately began to cry lustily. I could barely hear Dr. Winter announce that it was another girl.

"You did it, Beth," Al leaned close and embraced me, once again showering kisses on my face. "You were wonderful, honey." His loving touch and words melted into my dreams as I nodded and smiled through my tears, then gave in to the exhaustion and left my aching body behind.

* * *

When I awoke, it was dark and I was back in the hospital room. The clock on the bedstand read 10 PM. Al was at my side, and I realized that he must have fallen asleep watching over me. His head had fallen against the mattress, and even though his grip had relaxed, he had not let go of my hand. 

Glancing around the room, I noticed something catching the slight illumination. A warm smile spread across my face when I saw that it was a vase of calla lilies. I turned my head to sigh contentedly at my husband. When I'd first met him, I had introduced him to my girlfriends as Al Calla Lily, my Anglo tongue tripping over the Italian syllables of his last name and substituting the name of my favorite flower. The incident had become a private joke, and the joke in turn had become a tradition, and Al always made sure I had an abundance of the elegant ivory flowers I so dearly loved.

I tried to sit up without waking him, but he popped up like a fresh slice of toast with my first movement. "Hello, beautiful," he said. Caressing my cheek, he added, with a note of concern, "Beth, how are you feeling?"

"Pretty sore," I admitted. Gently, he helped me sit up.

"Feel up to eating anything? I can call one of the nurses," he offered.

I shook my head. "How are the babies?"

"They're fine, and they're beautiful, just like their mother."

"Healthy?"

"Yes, honey, two healthy baby girls. You were amazing, angel."

"I still can't believe it, Al. Twins." I laughed. "I can't wait to see Mom's face."

Al stroked my cheek again. "I'm happy just to see this mom's face. I missed you, Beth." He lowered his eyes and began lightly tracing his fingers along my hand. "I'm so sorry I was late, honey. You shouldn't have had to go through that alone."

I laid a finger on his lips. "It wasn't your fault. And you were there for me when I really needed you. I'm not sure I could have gotten through the second delivery without you." I laughed sheepishly. "Of course, I'm not going to lie. I was scared and I desperately wanted you. Poor Sally must think I don't appreciate her." I gasped when I remembered Sally and Rick. "Oh, Al, they're not still here, are they?"

"No, no. I sent them home after we saw the babies in the nursery. God, they're beautiful, Beth. I'll have the nurse bring them in."

Al dashed from the room before I was able to get a word out. I could hear him arguing at the nurses' station. "I don't care if it's after hours, you're going to get them and bring them down here so their mother can see them."

He came back in, the picture of innocence. "It'll just be a few minutes."

"How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Do what?" I mimicked. "Simply manage to convince people to do what you want, that's what."

"Oh, that," Al shrugged.

"I call it your 'Calavicci Charm.' Does it work on everyone?"

"I know it works on you." Al bent to kiss me.

A muffled cough at the doorway interrupted us. "Mrs. Calavicci? Would you like to see your babies?" Two nurses wheeled the bassinets the twins were sleeping in to the side of my bed. "I'll be back in a few minutes," the head nurse glared at Al.

I stifled a giggle at the conflict brewing. As I expected, Al smiled winningly at the nurse, earning a tiny bemused smirk before she stepped out of the doorway.

Al gently picked up one of the girls and handed her to me. He picked up the other one, sat next to me on the bed, and cradled her in his arms so I could see her easily. Both of them sleepily opened their eyes and peered up at us; one small mouth opened in a wide, toothless yawn. Their dark lashes fluttered over their chocolate brown eyes. A soft fuzz of dark brown hair topped their identical heads. I looked up at Al with a smile, my heart catching in my chest with the powerful wave of love that engulfed me at the sight of my daughters.

"Oh, you were right. They're so beautiful," I said. "Hello, welcome to the world."

I loosened the blanket and looked at her, her tiny hands, fingers clenched, her elfin feet with ten perfect little toes. She was so beautiful. So was her sister. I inclined my head and studied the baby in Al's arms. Reading my thoughts, he unwrapped the blanket so I could check fingers and toes again. Satisfied, I kissed her smooth, innocent forehead.

"We had one name picked out," Al said after a moment, "but we've got two little ones."

I nodded. "It is a bit of a dilemma. I certainly don't want to give them names that start with the same letter or sound alike."

Al laughed and kissed my cheek. "I'm glad we agree on that!" He pursed his lips in thought, looking down at the younger of the twins in his arms. "Well, if it had been a boy we were going to go with Michael. How does Michele strike you?"

"Lovely. Bridget Louise and Michele," I stopped. "She needs a middle name." I studied their faces when a sudden thought struck me. "Gertrude. For your sister. Michele Gertrude."

Al's voice cracked as he repeated the name. He smiled and nodded. "I think Trudy would have liked that."

I looked down at the new lives cradled in our arms, only hours old. Each soft bundle was a little person, created from our love. Characteristics of Al mingled with bits of me, and a wave of affection washed over me as I contemplated the beautiful combination of the best of each of us. I lifted Bridget's tiny hand again, marveling at the perfection of her fingers. She took hold, tightly squeezing my finger in her miniature grasp. My eyes filled with tears and I silently vowed to do everything in my power to make our daughters the happiest little girls ever.

Al brushed his lips against my cheek. "They're a miracle, Beth. I never thought I would ever see an actual miracle."

I glanced at his face. His brown eyes, the same beautiful brown eyes duplicated in our daughters, glistened with rare tears.


	13. Wednesday, January 26, 1977

**Wednesday, January 26, 1977  
**

"Sweet dreams, my little angel."

I lightly ran my hand down Michele's tiny back, then raised the crib rail into position. Bridget was still asleep, and I smiled at my good fortune. Quietly, I slipped out of the nursery and back into our bedroom.

Al snored quietly. Not wanting to wake him, I eased back into bed as carefully as I could. He murmured softly in his sleep and instinctively moved closer to me. Smiling, I rested my hand on his shoulder and settled in for the night, snuggling into his chest. I'd just started to drift off when piercing cries called me back to awareness.

Al stirred. "Who's crying?" he mumbled.

I put my finger to his lips. "I've got it, honey, go back to sleep." As he drifted off again, I slid out of bed.

Hurrying, before the crying twin could wake her sister, I rushed into the nursery. It was Bridget this time. I picked her up and paced the length of the room with her. "C'mon, sweetie, what's wrong? Will you go to sleep for Mommy, please?" She only cried all the louder. I checked her diaper, but it was dry. "You can't be hungry again already?" I wondered aloud. Well, it was worth a try.

I sat down in the rocking chair and prepared to nurse her. Bridget latched on hungrily. I smiled and stroked her hair as I rocked and fed her, enjoying the blessed silence. Unfortunately, it was short-lived as Michele woke and started wailing.

_Please don't be hungry_, I thought as I levered myself out of the rocking chair and crossed to her crib. I balanced Bridget in one arm and tried to soothe Michele with my free hand. It wasn't terribly effective.

"Hush, hush, now. You're going to wake your daddy."

"She already did," a bleary voice said from behind me. Yawning, Al came into the room.

"Al, love, go back to bed. You've got to be on the base at 0800 tomorrow."

He shook his head and gave me a kiss on the cheek as he bypassed me to pick up Michele. He tucked her against his shoulder and gently bounced on his toes as he started pacing with her.

"Al, you've got to get up early tomorrow."

"You mean later this morning," he chuckled. "Sit back down, Beth. That can't be comfortable for you." I complied, resuming my rocking pattern in hopes that she would fall asleep again. Meanwhile, Michele's crying continued at its loud pitch. "Aw, what's the matter, munchkin?" he crooned, patting her on the back.

I yawned loudly, so tired I was unable to stifle it, and Al turned to me, now trying to bounce Michele in his arms. "How many nights has this been going on?"

"I've lost count," I admitted around another yawn.

"You should have woken me up, Beth," he scolded. Cradling Michele's head in the palm of his hand, he kissed the top of her head. She hadn't settled down yet. "You should have woken me up," he repeated.

"I didn't want to disturb you."

Al shook his head. "And you don't need _your_ rest?"

Bridget had eaten her fill, so I shifted her to my shoulder and began patting her on the back to burp her. "It's okay, honey, I would've woken you if I needed you."

He gave me a hard look, his feelings hurt by what I'd said about not needing him.

"I'm sorry, Al, that's not what I meant."

"I know," he relented. "You're bushed." He tried putting Michele on her back, supporting her on his forearms, and gently moved back and forth with her, cooing the whole time. She screamed louder, so he shifted her to a position cuddled against his chest. She finally quieted down

Bridget burped and spit up on my neck, missing the burping cloth entirely. I sighed as I shifted her to the my other shoulder so I could wipe it off. I closed my eyes momentarily and swayed. Al's hand on my elbow steadied me and I opened my eyes to see his concerned expression.

"Beth, you're exhausted, honey. The circles under your eyes are so dark people are going to think I punched you."

I laughed, but Al squeezed my elbow meaningfully. "Go to bed, baby. I've got it under control."

Michele picked that moment to start screeching again. A second later, Bridget joined in.

"No, you don't," I groaned.

Al bounced on his toes to soothe Michele. "They're going to cry no matter what. Let me take a turn tonight, honey. You should have all along."

I started to protest, but he was right. I was drained. "All right," I agreed. "Once Bridget falls asleep, I'll go to bed."

"Deal." He moved into a bouncing pace again, similar to Neil Armstrong's moon walk, and started singing in a low voice, "Hush little baby, don't say a word, Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird don't sing, Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring."

I glanced down at Bridget, who'd quieted down somewhat. I joined Al in the pacing, our paths crisscrossing as we made our way back and forth across the room. After a few more minutes of silence, I realized Bridget had fallen asleep. I settled her into her crib and turned to Al. Michele had stopped crying, but showed no signs of falling asleep anytime soon.

Al read the look on my face and shook his head. He paused in his singing to say, "A deal's a deal, Beth. Bridget's asleep…now it's your turn. Goodnight, hon." He bounced his way over to kiss me goodnight, and then resumed his lullaby, moving on to a new song, "Two and two are four, four and four are eight…"

I made my way back to our room, just able to hear the words as I laid down and closed my eyes. "Inchworm, inchworm, Measuring the marigold. Seems to me you'd stop and see, How beautiful they are…" However long it took him to get Michele to sleep I didn't know…I was out before he returned to bed.


	14. Saturday, February 19, 1978

**Saturday, February 19, 1978**

"Beth, I'm gonna go on ahead, okay?"

I looked up at Al from where I was kneeling in front of the stroller, trying to determine why Bridget was crying, and nodded, "Okay, honey. We'll catch up to you."

He smiled at me and headed in the direction of the shoes. I returned my attention to our daughter and identified the problem. She couldn't find her "passie" and was wailing as she frantically searched the area around her. I located it beneath her small leg and handed it to her with a grin. Her pacifier restored, Bridget stopped her fussing, and I stood up, preparing to cross back behind the stroller to catch up to Al, who I could see had entered the shoe department. I'd barely taken a step when a slender, dark-haired woman approached him from behind, surprise on her face.

"It can't be! Bingo? Bingo _Calavicci_!"

Al turned, his head whipping around at the sound of his old call sign and nickname, and an expression of sheer delight lit his eyes. "Lisa!"

She laughed and grabbed him in a tight embrace, kissing him full on the lips. I clenched the push bar of the double stroller and began making my way over. Did she not even _care _about wedding rings? As we got nearer, Michele shouted, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!"

Lisa's eyes widened, and she finally pulled away from Al, laying a hand on his chest and turning her head to watch the stroller drawing closer. "Nooooo," she laughed again. "These are YOURS?"

Al chuckled and bent down to lift Michele from the stroller, kissing her forehead as he nestled her against his side. "Yep. This is Michele, and that's Bridget."

Lisa reached out a perfectly manicured finger to tickle Michele under her chin. "She looks just like you, Bingo."

I waited for Al to correct her, as he always maintained the girls looked like me (save his eyes. Even he had to concede they had his eyes), but he just grinned and thanked her. I took in her trim figure, the clean lines of her pantsuit, and felt incredibly self-conscious in my rumpled shirt and jeans that were still, over a year after giving birth, a bit too tight around the hips and thighs. I was too aware of the stray hairs escaping from my ponytail, and contrasted them with the sleek coif of her dark hair.

I cleared my throat lightly, and Al turned, as if noticing me for the first time. "Oh, Beth! Lisa, this is my wife, Beth. Beth, this is Lisa Sherman. We were stationed together in the Fifties."

I started to reach out to shake her hand, but she'd tossed her head and was correcting Al, "Actually, Bingo, it's Parker now. I went back to my maiden name after I finally divorced Jack."

"And you never remarried?" Al handed Michele off to me.

"Now how could I, Al, when you're already taken?" she grinned, nodding at me. She glanced at the girls and shook her head lightly at him. "I never dreamed _you'd_ settle down, and now look at you. With a wife, and _two _kids!"

"Yeah, who woulda thunk it, huh?" he laughed.

"You guys planning on having more?"

Al shrugged. "These two can be handful enough sometimes."

I pretended to adjust Michele's small pantsleg to hide the tears that had suddenly sprung to my eyes at his words. _C'mon, Beth, you haven't even **said** anything_, I reminded myself. I sighed a shaky breath and tried to join in the conversation. "Do you have any kids, Lisa?"

"No, thank God! I wouldn't want any reminders of Jack around!"

Michele tugged on my sleeve. "Just a minute, honey," I told her. "Mommy and Daddy are talking." She sighed and rested her head on my shoulder.

"I can't believe you stayed with him as long as you did," Al said.

Lisa smiled and touched Al's cheek. "I know. I should've left him long before I did. Who knows? Maybe I'd have landed you instead of Beth!" She laughed merrily. "Oh, those were good times, weren't they, Bingo? Even if we did have to sneak around."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing! Did she have no shame? I waited for Al to say something, anything, but he just nodded in agreement. "They sure were."

Michele poked me in the arm again. "Mommy, I…"

"Not now, baby," I interrupted her. "Just a second." A pit had started to form in my stomach. "Sneak around?" I asked, starting to get an idea of what their relationship had entailed.

"He never told you the story?" Lisa laughed. To her credit she actually blushed slightly. "When Bingo and I were involved…I was kind of married to Jack Sherman."

"Oh." I didn't know what to say. I straightened Michele's sock instead.

"A true nozzle if ever there was one," Al said. He seemed to feel the sudden awkwardness as well. "So, are you seeing anyone?" Al asked Lisa. I stared at him in disbelief. What was he trying to do, see if she was available for another affair? Did he want to see what it was like to be the married party?

"As a matter of fact," Lisa said, "I am."

"I hope he treats you well."

"He does." She smirked. "Almost as well as you did."

"Mommy, yucky!" Michele finally exclaimed, throwing politeness out the window, and taking my face in both small hands. A foul odor filled the air, and I lightly patted her bottom to feel a full diaper. She hated wearing a soiled diaper, and I knew we were just moments away from a crying fit to rival Bridget's earlier one.

"I'm sorry, will you excuse me?" I said, grabbing the diaper bag from the storage area on the back of the stroller. "It was nice to meet you, Lisa," I lied. I turned to my husband, "Al, I'm gonna leave Bridget with you, okay, love?" I took off for the bathroom before he could give his assent or decline. _Maybe your daughter will remind you that you're married!_

"Mommy?" Michele asked in concern as we hurried to the bathroom at the back of the large department store. She reached up and touched an errant angry tear that was trickling its way down my cheek, staring at the wetness on her finger.

"It's okay, honey. Let's go get you changed, how's that sound?"

Michele was studying my face again, holding on to both cheeks, and she suddenly leaned forward and kissed me—a sloppy baby kiss. "Love Mommy," she declared.

I stopped in my tracks and started crying in earnest at the innocent gesture. "I love you, too, Michele. I love you so much, baby." I hugged her close to me and tried to get control of myself as we continued to the restroom.

The ladies' room was thankfully empty, and I found a stretch of empty counter. I reached one-handed into the diaper bag and found the changing pad, which I laid out on the counter, before hefting Michele up and setting her on it. She obediently lay on her back and waited for me to unsnap the legs of her toddler pants and change her diaper. She sang a little made-up song consisting of "la la la" and "ha ha ha ha," punctuated every so often with "Love Mommy."

"Bye, yucky!" she announced as I cleaned her bottom with the baby wipes.

I laughed, "That's right, 'Bye, yucky.'" New diaper on, I fastened the snaps of her pants leg and began cleaning the area. Michele sat up and hitched her bottom up on one side, yanking the changing pad from underneath her and handing it to me. "Thank you, darling," I told her, folding it and shoving it back in the diaper bag. She smiled and extended her arms for me to take her.

"Daddy?" she asked, once she was in my arms.

"Yes, we'll go find Daddy," I agreed.

By the time we arrived back in the shoe department, Al was at the register, paying for a pair of shoes, the stroller by his side. Lisa was no longer around, I was glad to see. Bridget had fallen asleep, and she was bent forward, her head pillowed on the padded restraint bar. I settled Michele into the seat behind her sister, and she beamed at me.

When I stood up, Al had finished at the register and was right next to me, studying me. I colored slightly, fully aware of the fact that it would be obvious I'd been crying. "Beth, we need to talk," he said, simply.

"Yes, we do. But not here." I grabbed the handle of the stroller and started pushing it away from the shoes, but Al took my arm, halting me.

"Honey, wait."

I stared at him. Al, of all people, wouldn't want to discuss anything in a public place.

He paused and rubbed the back of his neck, then hugged me to him. "I love you," he whispered in my ear, before kissing my cheek. "I just wanted to tell you that. I _love_ you."

I didn't trust my voice. I just nodded into his shoulder and took a shaky breath.

After another moment, he released me, allowing me to push the stroller forward and following alongside. We walked silently out of the department store and to the parking lot. We didn't speak as we settled the twins into their car seats and collapsed the stroller, stowing it in the trunk. The ride home was silent as well. Al kept his attention on the road and I stared out the window.

Al parked the car in the driveway and cleared his throat. "Beth, I…"

I shook my head and opened the car door, getting out without saying a word. I halfheartedly returned Rick's friendly wave from the next yard, and focused on unfastening Bridget's car seat straps without waking her. Al had already gotten Michele out and was carrying her around the car to meet us.

"Love Mommy," Michele proclaimed as she caught sight of me.

"I do, too, Sheli," agreed Al. He held my gaze. "More than anything."

I pressed my lips together and bent to pick up Bridget. I stood, settling her into my arms and saw that Al still watched me, his dark eyes earnest. Exhaling roughly, I pushed the door closed with my hip and marched toward the house without responding. From behind, I heard his frustrated growl before he followed me inside. Still silent, I carried Bridget upstairs and put her down in her crib, gently tugging her shoes and socks off and draping a light blanket over her. I brushed a soft hand across her head and bent to kiss her, then turned to leave the room. A small gasp escaped me when I saw Al standing in the doorway, Michele in his arms.

"Bridget's asleep," I said in a low voice. "She's going to wake her up if you bring her in here."

"Sheli's starting to drift off herself," Al pointed out. "She'll be out in a minute."

"Fine. Give her to me."

He shook his head. "I've got it." He walked to the rocking chair and sat down, setting it into motion and softly humming to Michele. I folded my arms and watched from the doorway, my lips tightly scrunched. Michele let out a soft sigh and gradually relaxed against her father, rubbing his earlobe. When her small fingers stopped moving and her limbs drooped, we both knew she was asleep.

Al put her to bed and turned to face me. "Are you ready to talk now?"

"I don't know," I answered honestly, in a hard voice. My arms were still folded defensively across my chest, and I glared at Al before turning to head downstairs. He hurried after me and grabbed my shoulders when he caught up with me in the den. Forcing me to turn and face him, he studied my expression.

"You're upset with me," he said, finally.

I rolled my eyes. "Very good, Mr. Obvious."

"Why?"

"Why! Al, if you even have to _ask_ me that, we've got bigger problems than I thought!"

"You mind clueing me in on these problems we supposedly have?" His hands flew to his hips.

My eyes narrowed as I said, "Just what the heck _was_ that back at the store?"

"Lisa? She's just an old friend."

"Don't give me that. It was more than just friendship, Albert. Lisa said it herself. You two were _involved_."

Al blew out a frustrated breath. "In _1957_. That was over twenty years ago!"

"Hmmph. As far as Lisa was concerned it might have just been yesterday." I looked fiercely at him. "Would you have told her you were married if I hadn't walked up?"

"What kind of question is that?"

My mouth dropped open at the question and I couldn't help but shake my head as I looked at the man that I thought that I knew. "One that you're evading." Al reached for my hand and tried stroking it, but I roughly yanked it away. "Would you have told her!"

His eyes were fiery. "Of course I would have!"

"How long were you two….?" I couldn't finish the sentence.

Sighing, Al answered, "About a year."

"Did you know she was married?"

He tried defending himself, "It wasn't much of a marriage, Beth. He cheated on her, and he hit her!"

"So that made it okay, huh?" Tears cast a sheen across my eyes and I blinked furiously.

"Beth, _she_ was married, I wasn't!"

I rubbed my face and turned away from him, my shoulders shaking from anger. "Maybe you weren't then, but you are now. And it all makes me wonder. If you didn't respect her vows…." I inhaled a ragged breath then faced him again, finishing in a quiet voice, "…will you respect ours?"

Stricken by my words, Al's mouth fell open. "Oh, Beth. I'm sorry." He reached for me, but I backed away, waving my arms in front of me for emphasis.

"Don't touch me right now, Albert. Just…don't."

He dropped his arms to his sides. "Beth, you mean the world to me. You know that, don't you?"

I gave him a harsh look. "I felt like an afterthought today."

"No. You're not." He stopped and looked at his shoes for a moment, then raised his head to look into my eyes. "Beth, when Lisa and I were together, you have to realize, I hadn't even met you yet! It was four years before we met!"

Shaking my head, I said sadly, "One look at Lisa and you were Bingo again, not just in the air. You were Bingo, and not my Al." I started crying. "Do you miss those days? Do you wish you could relive them? That you weren't saddled with a wife and kids?"

Al abortively extended his arms to embrace me, abruptly dropping them back to his sides. "No, I don't," he said. "I wouldn't trade what I have with you for anything."

"I wish I could believe you," I responded in a tiny voice.

A tear spilled from Al's eye and he took a step nearer to me. "Beth. I hurt you today, and I'm sorry. God, am I sorry."

"Did you love her?"

He was taken aback by the question and it seemed as if it hadn't fully registered with him. "What?"

Sighing, I repeated, "Did. You. Love her? And I want the truth, Albert, not some platitude that you think will get you back in my good graces!"

Al frowned. "I cared about her, Beth. We were lovers, yes, but did I love her? No. If I had loved her, she's probably right that I'd have married her." His eyes widened and he suddenly seemed worried about how I might take that last sentence, so he emphasized, "But I married _you_. Because I love _you_. I've always loved you. From the moment I set eyes on you, I've been in love with you."

He touched my shoulder, and this time I allowed the contact. "How long did she stay after I left?"

"Not long. I think she realized her being there upset you." Al moved closer, gauging my reactions as he did. "Beth, I wish I could change what I did when I was younger, but I can't. All I can do is assure you…baby, I swear to you, I will never cheat on you. When I said 'til death do us part,' I _meant_ it. You are the only woman for me, Elizabeth Rose."

I closed my eyes and pondered what he had said. I wanted to believe him, wanted to trust him. To forgive him. Opening my eyes, I searched his face, looking for earnestness, for honesty. I found it, but part of me stubbornly clung to my anger, smarting. That part of me questioned the honesty, recalling that Al had done summer stock theatre—and had been very skilled at it. Was he just saying the words he knew would soothe me?

"I love you, Beth!" His voice was strangled, regret and his desire to make it all better mingling and tightening his throat. All doubt left me.

"I love you, too, Al. That's what made it hurt so much."

"I'm sorry, honey." He gently pulled me into an embrace. "I'm so sorry."

I hugged him back, burying my face in his chest. "I just have one more question," I said, turning my head to the side so he could hear me.

He stiffened slightly, but calmly asked what it was.

"Did you mean it when you told Lisa you didn't want any more kids?"

Al carefully pushed me far enough away so that he could see my face. "What are you talking about? I never said I didn't want more children."

"But when she asked if we were planning on having more…."

He smiled and placed a light finger on my lips. "Are you going to deny the twins are a handful?"

"Well, no…." I had to smile back. "But…" He didn't let me finish.

"Oh no. Did you think…?" He broke off and hugged me to him again. "I'm sorry, baby, I just hurt you left and right today, didn't I?"

_More than you know_, I thought, but all I did was nod. Al pressed my head into his shoulder and tucked my hair behind my ear. He kept whispering how sorry he was and how much he loved me. I let my eyes fall closed and nodded again. After a few moments I lifted my head and told him it was okay.

"I'll be all right," I shakily said, taking a deep breath to try and prove my point. On the exhale, though, I had to clamp my hand over my mouth as a surge of nausea brought on by my tears roiled and sent me running for the bathroom. I made it just in time, and after I flushed the toilet and rinsed my mouth out in the sink, I saw Al standing nervously in the doorway. He looked guilty for waiting til I was done, but I wasn't in the mood to discuss his aversion to vomit.

"Are you sick, honey? Do you want me to call a doctor?"

"I'm fine. I just got too worked up, that's all. Pregnancy'll do that to you, you know."

He nodded agreeably before what I had said fully clicked. He froze in mid-nod, his eyes widening. "Did you say pregnant?" When I nodded, a stupid grin spread across Al's face. He drew alongside me and rubbed his hand against my flat abdomen. "How long?" he asked.

"Dr. Winter confirmed it the other day. I've just been waiting for the right time to tell you."

Al closed his eyes momentarily before regarding me. "And today of all days…we run into Lisa Sherman."

I wagged a finger at him, mimicking Lisa, "It's Parker now, Bingo."

Al seized my wagging finger in his hand and shook his head. "It's not Bingo, Beth…it's Al."


	15. Tuesday, July 18, 1978

**Tuesday, July 18, 1978**

"Where is she? Where's my wife?"

Al's urgent voice echoed through the corridors of the hospital. I heard Ellie intercept him.

"Commander, this way. Please try and remain calm."

"Remain calm? Do you know the call I just got?"

"I do, sir. We're monitoring her now. We want her to stay calm, so I have to ask you to do the same." Their voices were louder now, right outside the doorway. "She's in here, sir."

Al came into the room and I relaxed slightly, comforted just at the sight of him in his khaki uniform. He tensed, however, as soon as saw me, halting in midstep and swallowing hard.

"My face looks worse than it is, Al." My split lip made me wince as I spoke. "I only took one hit in the mouth."

I was glad they'd propped me up facing the doorway. The doctors wanted to deflect my uterus to keep it off the blood vessels, so they'd elevated my right hip. Al walked quickly to my bedside, sat in the nearby chair, and took my hand. He rested his other hand on my pregnant belly and I cringed.

"Did I hurt you?" he gasped, yanking his hand away.

"It's not your fault, I'm just very bruised," I explained, placing my other hand atop the one that still held mine.

"They told me a patient attacked you. What happened?"

I nodded and took a deep breath, trying to keep the tears that had finally stopped from starting up again. "They were shorthanded and needed help in the ER. One of the patients was strung out on drugs and he…he just…went off." My shoulders started shaking. "He kicked me in the stomach! And, Al…I can't feel the baby moving!"

Briefly closing his eyes in pain, Al lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. "What did the doctors say?"

"They, um, they said I'm not bleeding, so that's a good sign." I tried to focus on that. Stressing out would be as bad for the baby as the blows I'd taken. "They were able to hear the baby's heartbeat, so we know it's still alive." I pushed away the negative thoughts of _for now_ that popped into my head.

"Is it possible that the baby's just stunned and that's why you can't feel it?" he asked, trying to come up with an explanation that wouldn't be too traumatic. I loved him for it.

"Maybe," I said, and looked intently into his eyes. "Thank you for coming so quickly."

"I wish I was here for another reason. What about you…how are you feeling, hon?"

"Terrified for the baby more than anything."

Al squeezed my hand. "Who sent you to fill in in the ER?"

I didn't like the angry fire in his eyes when he asked that. It was a look that usually signaled he intended to take action. "W-What are you going to do?"

"Don't worry about that, angel. Just tell me who had the brilliant idea of sending a pregnant nurse into that situation."

"Dr. Keller."

He repeated the name and bobbed his head somberly, and I reached to touch his forearm. "Al, please don't do anything rash."

He smiled and lovingly brushed hair off my forehead. "You just worry about feeling better, my darling."

I opened my mouth to say something else, but Dr. Winter came in at that moment.

"Hello, Beth." She stood behind Al and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I'm glad you're here, Al. Are you keeping her relaxed?"

"I'm doing my best, ma'am," he assured her, smiling at me.

"I read your chart, Beth. We've got fetal heart tone, and that's promising. That's very promising." She lowered the sheet to my hip. "I want to see what sort of injury we're dealing with, Beth. Do you mind if I lift your gown?"

"No," I said, licking dry lips, "go ahead." Al moved so that he wasn't in Dr. Winter's way, and his hand convulsively tightened on mine when she pushed up the hospital gown and he saw the angry purple and red bruising on my pregnant belly. She gently probed my stomach, and I flinched.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, Beth, how badly does it hurt?" she asked me, her hands moving across the expanse of my belly.

"Um…when it's touched…7, maybe an 8. Otherwise, it's a 4."

"Any contractions?" She was touching the lower portion of my abdomen now.

"One." As I spoke, pain seized me and I squeezed my eyes shut.

Al bent close. "Honey, what's wrong?"

I just shook my head, immobilized by the contraction, and when the sensation passed, I looked at Dr. Winter and tremulously said, "Two."

"Yes, I felt it." She sighed and lowered my gown, pulling the sheet back up a moment afterward. "I want them to hook you up to a fetal monitor, Beth. The baby might be in distress."

I gripped Al's hand and looked frantically from him to the doctor. "Dr. Winter…I…I haven't felt the baby move since they put me in here. How worried should I be?"

She sat on the edge of my bed and looked serious. Al slowly sat as well and draped an arm around my shoulders.

"I'm not going to sugarcoat it. While it's good—it's very good—that we've got a heartbeat, the lack of movement and the contractions are a concern to me. Tenderness is to be expected right now—the injury's still fresh. But I want to monitor the baby for the next few hours. If things settle out, you should be able to go home and take it easy for a few days. If they don't….well, then I'll want to keep you here, in case we have to do a C-section."

I nodded, my heart frozen at the prospect of them taking the baby early. I refused to let my mind focus on the third possibility she didn't mention…and even as I tried to keep it from my thoughts, there it was, hanging over me like a vulture. My eyes searched out Al's again.

He kissed my forehead. "Everything's gonna be okay, sweetheart."

Dr. Winter smiled, her blue eyes kind. "Listen to your husband. When you start feeling frightened, and I know you are right now, just focus on that, okay? It's important that you keep as calm as you can." She stood and added, "We're going to do everything we can for you and your baby, okay, Beth? I'll be right back. I've got some instructions for the nurses." She paused in the doorway. "Someone'll be in to set up the fetal monitor shortly."

When she was gone, Al pressed his lips to my temple and rubbed my shoulder, feeling my trembling beginning and trying to soothe me. "Shhh, honey. It's okay." He paused, then asked in a voice he couldn't keep the harshness out of, "What did they do with the scumbag who kicked you?"

"Ellie told me they stitched him up and then the cops took him away."

"The hospital's pressing charges, right?"

"I guess. I wasn't paying much attention."

He shook his head, annoyed at himself. "Of course you weren't. I'm sorry, Beth…I'm just so furious this happened to you."

I looked up at him, studying his eyes that were full of conflicting emotions—anger, fear, concern, and love. The same emotions that were surging through me. "I know." I touched his cheek tenderly, "I'm glad you're here…I'd be a basket case otherwise."

A knock on the open door drew our attention and we watched Ellie push in a cart with a machine on it. She approached my bed and showed us an elastic belt with a plastic box-like device at the center. "I'm going to strap this around your abdomen, Beth, and the monitor will record the baby's heartbeat."

For the second time, my bruised stomach was exposed, and Ellie positioned the monitor, fastening the belt. She connected a wire to the monitor and switched the machine on. It promptly started a needle into motion, which recorded the baby's heartbeat with each swipe across the thin paper it expelled. She watched the report for a few moments and gave me an encouraging grin. "We're still picking up a heartbeat, Beth."

"Good," I weakly said. I looked down at my stomach. _Hang in there, Little One._

"Just relax," she advised me before she headed for the door. "Buzz if you need anything."

Alone with my husband again, I leaned my head against him and closed my eyes. Al traced affectionate circles on my arm. "I want you to take a leave until the baby's born," he said. "When they let you out, I want you to take it easy, okay?"

"Okay." I kept my eyes shut, comforted by the warmth of his body against mine. When I heard footsteps entering the room, I assumed it was Dr. Winter, but the sudden halt to Al's caresses and the way he stiffened told me it was Fred Keller even before the man spoke.

"How are we doing, Beth?" he asked. I opened my eyes, but Al answered before I could say anything.

"How dare you!" Al eased me out of his embrace and stood, his eyes smoldering. "How _dare_ you come in here and ask how she's doing! She wouldn't even be in here if it hadn't been for you!" He took a few menacing steps toward Dr. Keller. "What were you thinking? What the hell were you _thinking_ sending her down there?"

Dr. Keller's jaw dropped and he blinked quickly as he tried to come up with words. "Commander Calavicci, I certainly didn't think she'd be in any danger!" He turned to me, "Beth, believe me, I wouldn't have had you fill in if I thought—"

"No," Al cut him off with a slashing gesture of his hand. "Don't you talk to her! I don't want you saying one word to her. You have no right to speak to my wife. I can't believe you! You had no business sending a pregnant woman to the ER! The stress alone…" He broke off and shook his head, his fists clenching and unclenching at his side. When he spoke again, his voice was dangerous in its quiet intensity and he punctuated his words with a pointing finger jabbing in the doctor's direction. "Take a look—take a good look at what you caused. I hope you know a good lawyer, Keller, because if we lose the baby, I plan on suing your ass for every cent you have and making certain you never practice medicine again."

An ice cold dagger stabbed through me as Al articulated the terror that had consumed my mind since the moment the drug-addict's boot-clad foot had impacted with my stomach for the first time and sent me tumbling to the floor. _If we lose the baby... _I bit my lip, ignoring the pain as my teeth made contact with the raw injury; so much more painful was the memory of the subsequent kicks I'd taken as the addict's deluded anger focused in on me. Anguish swiftly built up inside of me until I couldn't contain it anymore, and I dissolved into wracking sobs.

Suddenly realizing the impact of his words, Al gasped and hurried to me, frantically saying, "No, no, no. I'm sorry, Beth. Forget I said that, honey." He wiped ineffectually at my tears as he twisted around to glare at Dr. Keller and issue a final threat, "Don't think I'm not taking this to your superiors." Returning his attention to me, Al smoothed my hair away from my face and bent to kiss a wet cheek. "Everything's gonna be fine, angel."

Thick tears filled my eyes and I clung blindly to his arm, my face crumpled in despair. "W-what…..w-what if I lose our b-baby?"

"Shhh, that's not going to happen, Beth."

The commotion must have caught Dr. Winter's attention, because she came in and started scolding.

"Commander Calavicci, I thought you said you were going to keep your wife calm!"

"I'm sorry, Doctor. I just lost it when this nozzle came in the room!"

Dr. Winter softly said, "Dr. Keller, I think it would be best if you left. With all due respect, I think the Calavicci's need some time alone to deal with this." He started to protest and apologize again, but she cut him off. "Fred, please. Just leave." I heard his footsteps retreating, and then Dr. Winter approached the bed, and sternly asked, "Al, do you understand how imperative it is that Beth stays calm?"

Al hadn't stopped wiping tears from my cheeks as quickly as they were shed. "I know, Doctor. I'm sorry."

"Apologizing isn't enough. Look at how distraught she is. Do you think that's helping the baby any?" She walked over to the monitor and checked the printouts, clucking her tongue thoughtfully. "Don't make me have to ask you to leave as well."

"No!" I stretched my arms in front of Al's lap as if to hold him in place and looked pleadingly at Dr. Winter. "Please…I need him here."

"Then you need to settle down, Beth! I don't want to sedate you."

Al looked into my eyes, capturing my attention. "Forget what I said, honey. I wasn't thinking. Please stop crying. C'mon, it's gonna be all right. Hush now. Look in my eyes and listen to my voice, okay? That's right…just keep looking at me. Now, take a deep breath." He breathed in, and I instinctively followed suit, connecting with him visually and emotionally. I shakily exhaled a moment after he did, and Al nodded encouragingly. "That was good, that was real good, baby. Let's do that again." He modeled the deep breath again, and I again followed along, my exhale catching up with his. The third time he led me in the breathing, I was in perfect sync with him. He continued like that for several minutes, until my tears had dried up and I closed my eyes briefly from emotional exhaustion.

Dr. Winter's voice had approval in it, "Well done, Al. I take it back." He stood to allow her access to me, and she placed the cold metal of her stethoscope against my chest. "Much better, Beth," she nodded as she checked my vitals. Removing the stethoscope and draping it around her neck, she patted my shoulder and said, "Hang in there. If we can make it through the next few hours, you can go home on bed rest. Now I'll leave you two alone for a while." She arose and gestured for Al to resume his place on the edge of the bed. After he sat and took my hand in his again, Dr. Winter nodded her sanction and left.

"Oh, my sweet Beth," Al said, tenderly tracing a finger along my chin and frowning as he avoided the swelling and bruising from the cut on my lips. I took his hand and gingerly placed it on a relatively unbruised section of my stomach. He immediately started to lift it, but I shook my head and held it in place.

"It doesn't hurt too badly in this spot. And I think our Little One needs to feel that you're here."

Al nodded and gently rubbed his thumb back and forth on my tummy. "Daddy's right here."

I sighed and closed my eyes. "Al, do you think it's a boy this time?"

"It's certainly strong enough to be one. Your stomach, Beth…" He trailed off, and I opened my eyes to see a bright sheen glistening in his. Al shook his head and forced a smile. "Everything's going to be fine, honey. You'll see."

"A boy would be nice, wouldn't it?" I smiled. "I guess we should start considering names."

Al's eyes flicked to the fetal monitor and back, and I knew what he was thinking. We might be picking a name only to have it carved on a tiny tombstone. The baby still hadn't moved, and it was only the strip of paper the monitor continually spat out that showed any signs of life. Al straightened and suddenly grinned at me.

"That's a good idea," he said, a little too brightly. "What were you leaning towards?"

I twiddled with his wedding ring. "Albert, Jr.?"

"I thought we had this conversation when you were pregnant with the twins. Calavicci's a mouthful enough without tacking a 'junior' on the end of it." Al winked at me, and I laughed. "What about Brian?" he asked.

"Mmm, not bad. But didn't the Taylor's just have a Brian?"

"Oh. Yeah, they did." His thumb stroked gentle circles on my stomach again.

"We could name him after your Dad," I suggested.

Al smiled at me. "That's sweet, Beth, but I think Gino would get him beat up on the playground nowadays. Sounds too much like Gina."

"Not if we anglicized it. We could name him John."

"John Calavicci." Al tried it out and cocked his head approvingly. "Not bad. But we'll have to honor both sides, you know. So he should have your father's name as a middle name."

"John Peter Calavicci." I smiled, "I like it."

"Okay, John Peter," Al said to my belly, "hang in there, buddy."

"He's going to make it, isn't he, Al?"

"I hope so." The sheen was back in his eyes.

We were both startled by a sudden surge in activity on the fetal monitor, and a split second later the pain of a contraction seized me. Al moved his hand from my stomach to caress my forehead while I clenched his other one.

"That's three contractions now," I panted as it subsided and I released my grip on his hand. "Al, I'm scared."

He stroked his thumb across my eyebrow. "I know, honey. I am, too."

"Al, if I ask you to do something, will you do it for me?"

His stopped his caresses and looked intently at me. "What is it?"

"It would mean a lot to me—and I'd feel better if you, uh…"

"What, my love?"

My cheek twitched as I prepared to ask something of him that I knew would be tough. No. Worse than tough. Painful. "Would you be willing to go to the chapel and pray for our baby?"

Al froze. "Beth, you know what happened with my father. I wouldn't be speaking to God at all now if He hadn't come through in the end by letting me come home to you. But the chapel…"

"I know I'm asking a lot of you, baby—maybe too much. If I could, I would go myself, hon. I know it's foolish to think so, but it just seems like prayers are heard better there. And you know how it comforts me." I touched his elbow. "If you went for me, it would be like I was there."

"You said you didn't want me to leave your side not ten minutes ago."

"This is different, Al. Please."

His brown eyes held mine in a penetrating gaze. Finally, he gave me a small smile and sighed in defeat, "I can see it means that much to you. I'll do it for you…on one condition. You take a catnap while I'm gone."

"I'll try."

Al nodded. He patted my hand and rose to leave, but hesitated when someone knocked lightly on the open hospital door. Sally and Rick Williams stood in the doorway. Sally herself was five months pregnant, and she was trying to keep her expression serene in the face of my injuries.

"I heard what happened on the scanner and I called in for more information," Rick explained. "I was just coming off my shift and I went straight to get Sally. I knew she'd want to see you, Beth."

"Thanks for coming," I said. "It means a lot."

"What's going on?" he asked, noting the way Al was bouncing on his toes.

"Al was just about to go to the chapel for me."

Al glanced at me, then looked back at Rick and Sally and nodded.

"I'll go with you," offered Rick. I wasn't sure if that made it easier for Al or not, but he thanked Rick, and they exited together.

As soon as our two uniformed husbands left (mine in naval khaki, Sally's in police blue), Sally rushed to my side. "Is everything okay with the baby, Beth?"

"We hope so," I said, not wanting to upset her or myself by getting fully into the details. She seemed to understand and perched lightly on the edge of my bed, brushing my hair off my face.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked. She gave the impression she was desperate to be of help, so I asked for a glass of water. Her hands shook slightly as she poured it and passed the cup to me.

"Thanks," I smiled before taking a sip.

"What did they tell you?"

"If the contractions stop within a few hours, I can go home on bed rest. Otherwise, I'll have to stay here."

"Oh, Beth. I'm sorry."

I took another sip of water to force down the lump that formed in my throat; I didn't want to start crying again. "How are you doing?" I asked, gently patting Sally's bump to change the subject.

"I thought morning sickness was only supposed to last a few months. Not only is it still happening, it's not limited to the mornings," she groaned.

I grimaced sympathetically. "Mine lasted six months for the twins. Felt like forever."

"Maybe I'll get a reprieve next month then," she said hopefully. "You haven't had it bad this time, have you?"

Shaking my head, I said, "No, just the first couple of months. This pregnancy's been a breeze…up til now."

Sally didn't know what to say. She just smiled weakly and reached for my hand. "I guess Rick and Al are probably praying in the chapel by now. We can pray, too, if you want."

I just nodded and smiled gratefully at her, my eyes filling with tears.

Holding my hand in one of hers and resting the other on my hip, Sally bowed her head and started praying aloud. In my mind, I just kept desperately repeating pleas for the baby to make it, while tears slid silently down my cheeks. After a while, Sally quietly said, "Amen," and I echoed, opening my eyes to see a few tears falling from hers. She smiled and scrubbed them away.

"She's going to make it, Beth."

I grinned at her. "She?"

"Or he." Sally chuckled. "I'm so used to seeing you with the twins. As a matter of fact, I'm hoping I'm having a girl." She rubbed her own belly.

"What about Rick?"

"He says he doesn't care so long as it's healthy, but I think deep down he's hoping for a boy. Doesn't every man?"

"I—I guess they do," I said, my thoughts going to Al and the memory of his face as he'd held Bridget for the first time in the delivery room. He'd bonded instantly with her, been smitten by her innocent angelic beauty. I knew it had been the same moments later with Michele. What would his face show when he held his son in his arms?

Sally suddenly closed her eyes and screwed up her face, her hand going to her mouth. "Beth…I'm sorry…I…" She broke off and dashed for the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Faintly, I could hear her gagging and retching.

I gingerly rubbed my belly and murmured to the baby. "Are you okay in there, John?" I pictured Al roughhousing with our son, teaching him to play baseball, and the thought made me smile. I rubbed my temple and hesitated, pondering what Sally had said. _Was_ it a boy? Or were we having another girl?

_If it **is** another girl—will Al be disappointed? _Like Rick, Al insisted he only cared that the baby was healthy. But I wondered…did he secretly hope for a son? I sighed, acknowledging that if our Little One made it that would fulfill our hopes enough. Yes, a healthy baby was all I was concerned about. I closed my eyes and concentrated on my womb, desperate to feel even a flutter of movement.

_Please, God...let our baby make it._

Sally finally emerged from the bathroom after a long time, her face both flushed and pale. Despite the seriousness of the reason I was in the hospital, we both had to laugh somewhat at how we were both feeling poorly. Rather than trying to make small talk neither of us were really interested in or up to, I suggested we turn the TV on and catch up with Phil Donahue. Apparently not having conquered her nausea, Sally agreed, commenting that Phil wouldn't be offended if she had to interrupt him by running to the bathroom to throw up.

She'd had to make just such a dash shortly before Al and Rick returned from the chapel some time later. Rick excused himself briefly to check on her and Al gently teased me about not holding up my end of the bargain by napping.

"I had company," I protested with a grin.

Al laughed and made me promise to take that nap as soon as Rick and Sally left. As I had before, I told him I would try. He settled into the chair beside the bed and took my hand, his face twisting at the sounds of Sally throwing up. "I'm glad those days are behind us," he said.

"Yeah, for all the help you were," I grinned. "Rick's in there _with_ her."

"I could've gone in with you, too," Al shot back, "if you wanted me to _join_ you in puking."

I giggled, the giggle quickly shifting into a gasp as yet another contraction suddenly took hold. Al gripped my hands and whispered, "Hang on to me, honey."

I did, my nails digging into his right hand and drawing blood. When the pain passed, I lifted his hand and saw the damage I'd inflicted. "Oh! I'm sorry, Al."

"It's okay," he said, kissing my cheek. He winked and then tilted the back of his hand toward Rick, who'd finally come out of the bathroom with Sally during my contraction. "See what you have to look forward to, pal?"

I swatted him, his teasing distracting me slightly from my fear. Undoubtedly, that was what he had intended.

"Spousal abuse," Al declared. "You see how she treats me?"

"And I'm sure you deserve every bit of it," Sally grinned, bravely trying to hide how witnessing my preterm contraction had shaken her.

_Donahue_ came to an end and the evening news started. My eyes widened at the time. "The twins," I said.

"What is it, honey?"

"I usually pick up the twins about now."

Al sat up straighter at the realization as well. "How late does the daycare stay open?"

"Six-thirty."

He looked at his watch and rubbed his neck as he thought aloud. "If I stay here with you until six-fifteen, I can just make it to the daycare. If – I mean, _when_ they release you tonight, I'll come back with the girls and get you."

I looked over Al's head at Rick and Sally and shook my head slightly. At the rate my contractions were going, the chances of my getting to go home tonight were slipping. Al didn't need the added stress of corralling the twins combined with his worry for me and our baby. Rick nodded and Sally mouthed, _"Way ahead of you."_

"Al, why don't you let us watch the girls tonight? Whether Beth gets to come home or not," she said.

He considered her offer, and I could tell he wanted to stay with me. "What do you think, honey?" he asked, leaving the decision to me—giving me the chance to give the answer I knew to be best.

"I think it's a good idea, baby. If I do get to come home tonight, I won't be much help to you on bed rest. Thank you, Sally."

She and Rick both assured us it was not a problem, and Al quickly wrote out a note authorizing the nursery school to release the girls to them for the evening.

"Thanks," he told them, handing Rick the page.

Rick folded the note and tucked it in his shirt pocket. He and Sally stopped at my bedside, and each took one of my hands. "We'll be praying," Rick assured me. He turned to Al, "Keep us posted. We'll watch Bridget and Michele as long as you need us to."

"It'll be good practice," smiled Sally.

They left after exchanging goodbyes with us. Once we were alone Al fondled my cheek. "I love you, baby."

I grabbed his hand and gently pulled it to my mouth, kissing the palm of his hand, wincing only slightly as I strained my injured lip. "I love you, too," I told him.

He cupped his hand to the side of my face and caressed the skin with his thumb, bending to apply a line of light kisses across my forehead. "Rick and Sally are gone now," he prompted.

I cocked my head to the side. "You're seriously going to make me take a nap?"

"Just call me the Sandman. Besides, I told Dr. Winter I'd keep you calm and relaxed."

"I doubt that's what she had in mind."

"Doubt that what's what who had in mind?" Dr. Winter asked, entering the room to check on me again. She headed directly for the monitor, and sighed as she saw the evidence of the two additional contractions I'd had since she'd last examined me. She checked her wristwatch and shook her head, opening her mouth to say something. Whatever it was she was about to say was cut off by another contraction that had me grabbing on to Al's wrist and squeezing so hard a small squeak of pain escaped him.

"Sorry," I ground out through gritted teeth.

"Don't apologize, baby. Just hold onto me." He was caressing the back of my head as I groaned and panted.

"That was number five?" Dr. Winter asked when my body relaxed again. At my affirmative nod, she made a notation in my chart. Finished writing, she looked up at us. "The baby doesn't appear to be in distress, and so far the contractions are irregular. That's the good news."

"And the bad news?" Al slowly asked.

She smiled wistfully. "We're looking at five contractions in under three hours. Three more within an hour and I have no choice but to keep you here for the night. Have you felt any movement yet?"

I felt my lower lip start trembling as I told her no. I breathed deeply and shakily through my nose to hold the flood back. Al stroked my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles one by one.

Dr. Winter sighed. "I'd like to go ahead and admit you now, Beth, for a number of reasons. If the baby does start having problems, you'll be right here for a Caesarean. It's getting late in the evening, too, and I'd like you to eat something."

"I'm not hungry," I quietly said.

"Well, you don't have to eat right at this moment, but I do want you to have a light supper."

"I'm trying to convince her to get a little sleep, Dr. Winter," Al put in. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"That's probably a good idea," she said. "The added relaxation certainly can't hurt, and your mind could use a break from worrying."

"I'll stop worrying when I feel my baby move!" A slight tremor moved through me.

Dr. Winter pursed her lips sympathetically. "I understand, Beth. But _you_ have to understand, you need to stay as relaxed as you can. I've already told you I don't want to sedate you, but I will if I think you're getting too keyed up. Stress, anxiety, worry—none of that is good for the baby, especially right now." She looked at her watch again. "Try to get some rest, and in a couple of hours, your dinner should be here. Okay?"

I exhaled in annoyance. "Okay."

"All right then. I'll check on you around 7:30."

Al switched off the TV and began massaging feather-light strokes across my brow. He spoke in a soft, even voice that became hypnotic, "Go to sleep, sweetheart. Just relax. That's it…relax. No, don't fight it, honey. Close your eyes. Things'll be better when you wake up, I promise. That's right, Beth. Just let go. Just…let…go…"

His tone in combination with the steady pattern of caresses on my forehead was wining despite my stubborn attempts to remain alert and intent on my own condition. My lids slid heavily downward and I felt my body starting to unwind from the tight coil of tension it had been in for the last few hours. My breathing slowed, slowed and steadied, and the last thing I was aware of was Al's continued mantra, "That's it, baby. Just a little sleep. That's right. Just…relax."

* * *

I squinted and groaned as a bright light flashed in my eyes. Rather, I tried to squint—a difficult task as someone was holding my eyelid open. Mercifully the light was taken away and my lid was released. I blinked and looked blearily into Dr. Winter's face.

"Ah, you're awake," she said. She worried her lip between her teeth and glanced over her shoulder.

"I'm still not hungry," I mumbled, aware at some level that my words were slurring.

"I'm not here to make you eat anything, Beth."

"Good." I crinkled my forehead. "Everything feels fuzzy."

"That's the anesthesia," she said.

"Anesthesia?" I tried to sit up but couldn't summon up enough energy. I fell back against the pillows and stared at her. "What happened?"

She didn't answer me right away. I turned my head to the side, searching for Al. He was crumpled in the chair near the bed, tearstains on his despondent face. Instantly, my hands flew to my abdomen and the absence of the fetal monitor. I patted my stomach frantically, feeling the reduction in its size. A chill gripped my spine and I found it hard to breathe.

"What _happened_?" I asked again, panic coating my tone.

"Beth, while you were asleep, your blood pressure suddenly dropped and the baby's heart rate plummeted. We did a C-section, hoping to save the baby." Dr. Winter stopped and lowered her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Beth. He didn't make it."

"No," I whispered. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my hands to my temples. "No, that can't be!"

Al slowly dragged himself from the chair, visibly trying to set aside his own grief in order to comfort me. He inhaled deeply and cleared his throat, but his voice was still thick when he spoke. "Beth, honey, I'm sorry. Oh, God, I wish it wasn't, but it's true." He rubbed a hand over his face and looked at me with eyes that were soft and full of despair. I turned my face away as sobs took hold of me, my lungs spasming as the power of my sorrow threatened to turn into hyperventilating.

I felt the mattress shift as Al sat down next to me and took my shoulders in his hands. After a moment, he lifted me into an embrace and held me tightly to him, cupping the back of my head in his hand.

"I know it hurts, angel. I know." His voice cracked on the last words, and I felt his upper body quiver as he started crying.

"No. No! _No!_" The last one came out as a scream, and once I started screaming, I couldn't stop.

"Beth! Baby, it's okay. Hush, hush. Shhh, Beth, wake up, sweetheart!" I felt Al's hands on my face. "Baby, it's me. It's Al. Honey, open your eyes and look at me."

A final shriek escaped me and my eyes popped open. Al's face was inches away from mine, fear—and only fear—coloring his gaze. I touched his cheek, stunned to feel dryness.

"You were having a nightmare."

I didn't believe him until I felt the hard swell of my pregnancy, my fingers brushing the belt of the fetal monitor, its record still steadily printing from the machine. I sagged in relief.

"I thought I'd lost the baby."

"Oh, honey!" He kissed my cheek. "No, it was just a bad dream, just a horrible dream."

A sudden flurry of squeaking shoes on the linoleum floor alerted us to the approach of Ellie and another nurse, who'd heard my screams.

"She had a bad dream, that's all," Al informed them. "She'll be okay in a moment."

Still, Ellie checked the printout to be sure before they left.

"Don't make me go back to sleep," I groaned, rubbing my face. "I'm better off awake and worrying than having dreams like that."

"Okay, baby, I won't," he agreed. He gingerly stroked my belly, his fingertips just barely making contact with the bruised skin. "If I ever get my hands on the creep who did this to you…"

"You'll end up in jail yourself," I finished. "So don't go looking for him. I want _you_ more than I want vengeance, got it?"

He smiled and half-chuckled to himself. "Got it." Al bent to kiss me, remembering about my wounded mouth at the last instant, and diverting his kiss to my cheek. "_Sarà tutto il di destra. Lascerò il Dio prendere la cura della vendetta_."

"What did you say?" One of these days I needed to take an Italian class.

Al stroked my cheeks and said, "Everything's going to be fine."

The evening stretched out much like that. We tried talking about the twins, about current events, about the possibilities for a transfer in the next year or so. None of those various avenues of conversation led far away from the crisis at hand, and after veering back to concern and fear, each one ended with Al's assurances that things would turn out fine in the end. Yet, even though he hadn't asked me for the details of my nightmare, both of us worried that it could prove to be a prediction.

The light supper of soup and crackers that Dr. Winter had ordered arrived. They elevated the head of the bed so it was more conducive to eating, but my position propped up on one side and recumbent made it difficult for me to handle the spoon without ending up with more broth on my hospital gown than in my mouth, so Al insisted on feeding me. Somehow, even in these circumstances, he managed to lend an air of romance to it.

My ill-fated nap had run its course without being interrupted by a contraction, and no muscle spasms disrupted dinner. Thinking that maybe the worst was behind us, Al took a brief leave of me to grab a bite to eat for himself. He also planned on calling Rick and Sally to check on the girls. Dr. Winter arrived to check on me after he left. She smiled, having run into Al in the hallway. He'd updated her on the lack of contractions.

"Your stay may just be a formality, Beth," she told me, pausing to check the monitor before preparing to do a pelvic exam. "I just want to be certain you're still not bleeding or dilating."

"Well?" I asked when she finished.

She stripped the gloves from her hands, threw them away, and washed her hands again before sitting in the chair beside my bed.

"Everything looks normal."

I blew out a relieved breath, only to suck it in again when a sudden contraction seized me. The fetal monitor scrawled its activity in rapid pace. I scrunched the sheets in my hand and pounded the mattress in frustration.

Dr. Winter sighed. "I guess I spoke too soon."

"I guess you did," I snapped, then immediately apologized.

She smiled and shook her head, "It's okay, Beth." She picked up my chart and made some notes in it, rereading what she'd written earlier and what the attending doctors before her had notated. "That was a nice long span between contractions, though. We'll see how things go overnight."

I had to ask. "Dr. Winter, if you did have to do a C-section…what would my baby's chances be?"

"There are a lot of factors involved."

"Bottom line," I insisted.

Her mouth twisted. "Bottom line—it would be best for the baby if we were closer to your due date. The longer your little bun can stay in the oven, the better its chances are."

"But if you _did_ have to take him—it early."

"I couldn't guarantee anything."

I nodded and she touched my shoulder.

"Beth, you know full well there aren't any guarantees in medicine. If you were full-term right now and in normal labor I still couldn't guarantee you a healthy baby."

"But his chances would be better."

"Yes. They would. Immeasurably better."

My lips tightened and I felt my eyes grow steely. "I want to press charges."

It took her a minute to comprehend my statement. "Press charges?"

"I want that son of a bitch to pay for what he did to me!"

I don't think Karen Winter had ever heard such a harsh tone from my lips before. She'd certainly never heard such language from me, even in the throes of delivering twins. Her eyes widened and she literally leaned back from my anger.

"The hospital is pressing charges against him," she assured me.

"That's good. **_I_** want to as well!"

"I'll personally call the police for you to set it up. Tomorrow."

"Tonight."

Dr. Winter stood and regarded me with her eyebrows raised. "_Tomorrow_," she enunciated. "As your physician, I flatly refuse to allow it tonight—too much strain."

I smacked the mattress. "You don't understand! I need to _do_ something!"

"Yes, you do. You need to relax and focus on…"

"Oh don't give me that!" I shouted. "If I hear that I need to relax one more time, I'll scream! The last time I took that advice, I had a nightmare about losing my baby!"

"That's it. I'm going to sedate you."

"No!"

"Beth, you're not giving me any choice!"

I closed my eyes momentarily and breathed deeply. "Isn't that dangerous for the baby?" I challenged.

"Not as dangerous as your emotional state right now. If I took your blood pressure this minute, I know I wouldn't like what I'd see."

My chest heaved and tears escaped from the corners of my eyes. Dr. Winter shook her head. "I'm sorry, Beth. I don't have a choice."

"Don't have a choice about what?" Al had returned, and was looking bewildered at seeing me upset and crying. "What's going on?"

"She wants to sedate me!" I cried, pleading for his intervention with my eyes.

"Is that wise?" Al asked Dr. Winter.

In response, she asked to speak to him in the hallway. I strained to listen to their hushed voices, but couldn't make out their words. Desperately, I tried to calm myself down in order to make a case for being left alone, but the more attempts I made it seemed the harder I cried. I wiped at my eyes when they came back in and took a shaky breath, vainly trying to appear calm.

Al sat in the chair and took my hand. "Baby, listen to me. Dr. Winter's going to check your blood pressure, and if it's elevated…I told her to go ahead and sedate you."

I started to pull my hand away from his, but he held firm. "Traitor."

"Yes, I am." His eyes misted over. "I'm sorry, honey. But she's right. This isn't good for the baby, or for you."

"Let's just see what your blood pressure is," interjected Dr. Winter. She retrieved the cuff from its place above the bed and fastened it around my arm. Placing the stethoscope against the crook of my arm, she pumped the small bulb until the cuff was uncomfortably tight, listened, checked the dial, and frowned. She released the tension on the cuff and removed it after it deflated with a soft hiss.

"One-thirty-five over eighty-two. That's too high, Beth."

I turned my head away from them both, tugging firmly until Al released my hand. I knew I had no one to blame but myself for getting worked up, but I _wanted_ to blame someone else.

"It's a very mild sedative," said Dr. Winter, trying to soften things. I refused to acknowledge her. She sighed and told Al, "Ellie will be in to administer it in just a moment." I heard her leave. Still, I kept my face averted. About a minute or two later, Ellie came in and injected something into the IV line. She whispered to Al, and then left.

Al exhaled through his nose, the soft force whistling slightly. "You can hate me if you want," he said, "but I only agreed to it because I love you."

I sighed and looked at him, finally. "I don't hate you."

"But you _are_ angry with me." It was a statement, not a question.

"I'm angry with myself. I'm angry at the man who kicked me." I touched his hand. "But I'm not angry with you, not really. You were just a convenient target."

He nodded, understanding. For the umpteenth time he said, "It's going to be all right, Beth, really it is."

"I know." The sedative was kicking in now, and I felt myself starting to melt into the pillows. My lids grew heavy and I struggled to look at him. "I love you," I slurred as dark sleep beckoned.

His expression was soft and he touched my face. "I love you more," he said. His tender smile was the last thing I saw.


	16. Wednesday, July 19, 1978

**Wednesday, July 19, 1978**

No horrifying dreams of losing the baby tormented my sleep, thanks to the sedatives that had slipped me into a dreamless sleep. It was the only aspect of having been drugged that I appreciated. As my eyes fluttered open and I tried to orient myself to my surroundings, a soft rumbling that was as familiar to me as my own breathing filtered into my ears.

I tilted my head to the left—to the source of the noise—and studied Al's sleeping form. He was slumped in the chair, his head hanging forward so that his chin was tucked against his chest. Because of his odd position, his snoring didn't have quite the same quality that it did in our bedroom, but it was a comforting sound nonetheless. I had to smile, recognizing that I often nudged him into a new position to make him _stop_ snoring at home. And now, here I was practically reveling in the sound.

As I watched him, he grunted and shifted in his sleep, trying to find a more comfortable position. When he settled his body into a slightly different arrangement he moaned softly. He was a bit more sideways and slouched lower in the chair now, and his head tilted away from his chest and then tipped sharply backwards. The sudden drop caused him to snort awake, and he groaned as stiff muscles lodged their protest. He stretched, and a series of cracking noises sounded from his spine and various joints.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I told him, smiling lightly at him.

"Good morning," he returned with a yawn, instantly leaning forward to caress my cheekbone. "Nice to see you awake. Did you rest well?"

"Mmm, I guess so," I nodded. "Not that I had much choice in the matter."

"Well, if it's any consolation, when they checked on you last night, your blood pressure had started to go back down. It was almost normal by the middle of the night."

"Did they say anything about the baby?"

Al sighed, "Nothing really changed much. But it didn't get any worse, either. And if I understand the way that contraption works," he gestured at the fetal monitor, "the contractions seemed to be slowing down. It was a few hours between them the last time."

I cradled my belly in my hands, flinching as I encountered still sensitive bruises. Determined to reassure our baby, I endured the discomfort and rubbed my hands along its rounded curve. Al bit his lip, seeing the pain in my eyes. Rather than touch my black-and-blue stomach, he settled for lightly laying his hand atop my fingers, thus traveling piggyback across my affirming journey. As I had the day before, I focused my attention inward, trying to mentally reach our baby. Simultaneously, I softly spoke out loud, "It's going to be all right, Little One. Mommy and Daddy are right here."

"Yes, we are," Al echoed. "We're always going to be here for you."

My stomach growled and a brief fluttering sensation accompanied it.

"Do you want me to have the nurses bring you up a breakfast tray?" asked Al.

"Wait." The fluttering had happened again, only no audible growl accompanied it this time. As I concentrated, I realized that the fluttering was slightly lower and to the left of my stomach. Taking Al's hand in mine, I flattened it over the spot. "Can you feel that?" I asked breathlessly.

He closed his eyes and sat utterly still, every ounce of his attention fixated on the palm of his hand. He barely drew in air, and just when I was beginning to suspect that I'd imagined the sensation, or misinterpreted a gastric bubble, a soft kick thudded against the wall of my womb. Al's eyes popped open and he beamed at me, joy and relief surging through him.

"The baby moved! Al, it moved!" I was jubilant, ecstatic, and happy tears flooded my eyes. "Oh, dear God, _thank You!_"

Tears coated Al's eyes as well, but he made no move to wipe them away. Closing his eyes, letting the drops fall unimpeded down his cheeks, Al said, "_Grazie, Dio. Vi devo uno. Grazie. Grazie per conservare il nostro bambino. Grazie mille volte sopra._"

I didn't know much Italian, but I understood enough to know that Al was thanking God. The same God he'd turned his back on as a child when he'd lost his father. The One to Whom Al had cracked open his heart, even if only out of desperation, while trapped in Vietnam for so many long years; a second chance being both offered and received, culminating in his return to me and a tenuous restoration of the devout faith he'd held as a child. And now, it seemed, with this answer to our pleas, that faith was intensifying even more. In the language of his father, Al prayed his gratitude.

Neither of us moved our hands from my stomach, shifting position as needed to continue feeling the baby's turns and kicks. Each time we did, I sucked my breath in at the soreness; though it wasn't as sensitive as it had been yesterday. Even if it had been, I wouldn't have minded the aching—I rejoiced anew each time our baby moved.

Dr. Winter knocked on the door and came in, a smile spreading across her concerned face when she saw the elation on ours. Her gaze moved to our hands on my stomach and her smile widened.

"I don't even have to ask what's happened. When did the baby start moving again?"

Al and I looked helplessly at each other, realizing that in our giddiness, we hadn't kept track of time. I had no idea what time it had been when I woke up, nor how long we'd been following the baby's motion.

"Beth first noticed it about fifteen or twenty minutes ago," estimated Al.

"Wonderful," she enthused. She checked the report on the fetal monitor, and then retrieved a fetal stethoscope. Al backed out of her way and reached to grasp my hand as Dr. Winter pressed the device to my abdomen and listened intently. She looked up at me and smiled. "I think we may be out of the woods, Beth."

I let out a tense breath and beamed at Al. "Did you hear that, hon?"

He grinned at me and kissed my forehead. "I told you everything would be fine, angel."

Dr. Winter reached next for the blood pressure cuff and fastened it around my bicep, switching the fetal stethoscope for a traditional model, and pressing it against the vessel in my arm. "Now I want to see how Mama's doing."

I closed my eyes and hoped the reading would be better—even though Al had told me the nurses had reported it to him as nearing normal last night. Al stroked my cheek while the doctor checked me.

"One-twenty-two over sixty-three. Not perfect, but good enough for me." She didn't take the stethoscope out of her ears, but proceeded to check my heart rate and breathing. Dr. Winter nodded and smiled, finally removing the stethoscope and hanging it around her neck.

"I want to keep you here for a few more hours, Beth, just to make sure everything's fine. Let's project releasing you before noon, and I want you to stay on complete bed rest for at least the next couple of weeks." She directed her next words at Al. "I want you to make sure she follows my instructions to the letter."

"I _am_ here and listening, you know," I commented.

"Then listen up good. Beth, you're not to get up except to use the bathroom. Every other day you can bathe, but I'd prefer you to not take showers the first week. I don't want you on your feet that much. You can shower in the second week—and when you do, keep it under ten minutes. Always make sure Al or someone else is there to help you in and out of the tub."

He grinned wickedly at me at that, and I swatted him. "Behave yourself, flyboy, or she'll change the rules to say anyone _but_ you."

"Actually," Dr. Winter broke in, "I'm going to advise that you two abstain from intimacy during this time." She went into explicit detail of what was and was not allowed. The prohibited list was much longer.

I expected Al to protest, but he very seriously said, "Okay. Absolutely. Whatever's best for the baby."

"Finally, Beth, even though you'll be home, keep sending the twins to daycare."

"All right."

She smiled at both of us. "If things continue to improve, I'll see about loosening some of these restrictions after this time is over. The most important thing is bringing this baby to term."

I caressed my belly. "Whatever you say, Doctor."

* * *

Al walked so closely behind me as we made our way from the car to the house that I was surprised he didn't stub his toes on my heels. Once inside, he immediately made me recline on the sofa, moving to remove my shoes. 

"Do you want anything to drink, baby?" he asked me as his strong fingers massaged my feet.

"No, thank you." I closed my eyes and let myself relax while Al kneaded the soles of my feet, then began gently caressing the tops. "Ohhh," I groaned in pleasure. "Bed rest won't be too bad if I can have you do this every day."

Al grinned at me. "I'll be sure and take care of it every night. I wish I could stay with you tomorrow, but now that you're home…"

"You have to report back," I finished, a wistful smile on my face.

"0800 tomorrow," he confirmed. "I'll drop the twins off at nursery school and pick them up on my way home. The CO knows about our situation, so he said he'll work with me about being able to get them."

"Thanks for taking care of that."

"No problem." He reached for the afghan draped across the back of the sofa and spread it over me. "I'm gonna take a shower, Beth. I'll be quick, so you holler if you need me."

I smiled as he bent to kiss me on the cheek, still avoiding my bruised lips. "Okay. It's not fair, though. I have to wait til tomorrow to bathe."

Al grinned. "I'd wait and bathe with you, but for two things. One, I'd get written up for uncleanliness, and two—well, I'd be sorely tempted to do some things on Dr. Winter's no-no list." He waggled his eyebrows at me and I burst out laughing.

"Just bring the phone over before you go, if you wouldn't mind," I requested. "I need to call Mom."

He brought me the phone, pulling it to the extent of its long cord. Once he was pleased with the relative convenience for me, he kissed me again before retreating upstairs. It wasn't long until I heard the shower running. Off-key singing soon followed and I laughed as I dialed my parents' number.

* * *

True to her word, Dr. Winter arranged for the police to take my complaint in addition to the charges pressed by the hospital. A uniformed officer came by later that afternoon and filled out a report while Al sat fidgeting nearby. As I described the incident, Al got to his feet and started pacing—a release of energy that was far preferable to what I knew he wanted to do, which probably involved punching a wall before driving to the jail to beat the living daylights out of the man. Pausing in my statement, I asked Al to fix me some warm milk, diverting him from his thoughts by giving him something to do for me. 

Though he may have suspected what I was up to, Al didn't argue, and retreated to the kitchen. His rage at what I'd been through showed itself through a couple of slammed cabinet doors.

I hadn't wanted to get emotional, but I couldn't help tearing up through the process. Finally, the policeman completed the form and began photographing my injuries. Al returned with a steaming mug and I could see his anger rushing back as pictures were taken of my bruised stomach.

"Thank you, honey," I said lightly, reaching a hand for the mug. When he handed it to me, I switched it to my left hand and stretched out my right again for him to hold.

Lt. Fillmore finished with the camera and Al reached to adjust my shirt with his free hand.

"The perp won't get away with this, Mrs. Calavicci," the lieutenant assured me. He shifted his gaze to include Al. "I'm a friend of your neighbor, Lt. Williams. If the Department had allowed, he'd have come to do this himself. He personally requested that I handle it."

"Thank you," Al said. He walked Lt. Fillmore to the door and held a hushed conversation with him. Satisfied by whatever he heard, Al nodded, shook the man's hand, and then bade him goodbye. He shut the door and returned to my side.

"What was that about?" I asked.

"Tickets to the policeman's ball."

I frowned. "Don't lie to me, Al. What was that about?"

Al sighed. "I asked what was going to be done to the guy, and he told me they'd already taken care of it. They had him spend the night in a cell with some of the meanest inmates and leaked why he was there. He's in the prison infirmary now, the recipient of a little prison justice, apparently."

I wanted to be appalled, but a vengeful part of me was happy to hear it. For the first time, I truly understood the fierce protective instinct that burned within me where my babies were concerned. _Say hello, Mama Bear._


	17. Saturday, October 21, 1978

**Saturday, October 21, 1978**

"Do you think she's warm enough?" I asked Al as I adjusted the blanket around Theresa Marie's small month-old form. Outside, it was a scorcher, and to compensate, we had the air conditioner running. I worried about our newest baby, especially after how traumatic the pregnancy had turned out to be.

"She looks comfortable to me," Al said, and then grinned wickedly. "Then again, I'd be comfortable if that's where _I_ was right now." He indicated our daughter, who was nursing hungrily at my breast.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head at him. "You're hopeless," I grinned.

"Hopelessly devoted to you," he sang and I laughed.

"Your daddy is so silly," I told Theresa, "isn't he?" She actually paused in her suckling long enough to look at me before resuming her meal. I laughed again. "She agrees with me, Al."

"I think she was arguing with you."

"Were you arguing with me, baby girl? I don't think so. I think your daddy's being silly again."

"Daddy! Silly Daddy!" said Michele, who'd just toddled into the room.

"Someone's up from their nap," I said.

"They're ganging up on me! Outnumbered by girls," Al grinned, clapping his hands together and beckoning Michele to him.

She beamed at Al and walked towards him, her arms reaching up to be held. "Hold me, Daddy!"

"What's the magic word?" Al said.

"Peas!"

"Okay," he said, unable to keep the grin off his face at her pronunciation, and he bent to lift her into his arms. Michele planted a sloppy wet kiss on his cheek and reached to rub his earlobe. Al looked at me. "What is it with this one and ears? Careful, Sheli," he added, as she bent his ear down in half and a small finger slipped inside his ear canal. He reached up to free his ear and guided her fingers back to the lobe. "Stick to the lobes, sweetie, okay?"

"'Kay," she said, affably rubbing his earlobe again, resting her head against his shoulder. "Love Daddy."

"I love you, too," he said.

Bridget came in, dragging her nap blanket behind her, and she stopped in the center of the room, dismayed to see me occupied with nursing Theresa and Al holding Michele.

"I want hold me!" she complained.

"I'll hold you as soon as I finish feeding Theresa," I told her.

"Now."

"No, Bree. I can't right now."

"Peas?" she begged, drawing close and pushing at Theresa. Protesting the unwanted jostling, Theresa released and started crying.

"Bree, Mommy said no," Al said, coming over and taking Bridget's hand to lead her away from me. "And don't shove the baby."

"I not like the baby," pouted Bridget.

"Oh, Bree, don't say that, honey," I said, soothing Theresa and guiding her back to my breast for her to latch on. The crying stopped and eager sucking noises soon followed.

"I not like her," Bree insisted. "Always be quiet cuz the baby sleep. No hold me cuz the baby eat." She started to cry, "Mommy loves baby more'n me."

"That's not true, Bridget," I said. "I love you all the same."

"Why baby not go back in tummy, Mommy?"

Al pressed his lips together to keep from laughing at the question, though his eyes displayed his concern at Bridget's feelings of being left out. He sat down and shifted Michele over, helping Bridget onto the sofa to sit with them.

"It doesn't work that way, Bridget," he explained. "Once it's time for babies to come out, they're out for good." He brushed her hair back behind her ear and gently wiped tears off her cheeks. "In a few months, Theresa won't need Mommy quite as much as she does right now. And a few more months after that, she'll be big enough to play with you."

"But I want hold me _now_!"

Al and I exchanged helpless looks. It was one thing trying to teach the girls to share their toys. It was another teaching them to share _us_.

"How would you girls like to play horsey?" Al finally suggested. Michele was instantly agreeable, but it took Bridget a few moments of thought to reluctantly decide that horsey was better than not being held at all. Al settled one girl on each leg and then dutifully began bouncing them.

Theresa's suckling gradually slowed and her little eyelids stared to slide downward. I gently disengaged her mouth and adjusted my nursing bra and shirt with one hand before tossing the burping cloth over my shoulder and lifting her to begin patting her back. After a few minutes she burped and spit up a bit. I dabbed at her mouth and cradled her in my arms, rocking back and forth until she fell asleep.

"She's out," I smiled at Al, who was just starting to show signs of weariness from jostling the girls. They giggled gleefully as he bounced his legs alternately so that they moved counter to each other.

I got up and put Theresa down in the bassinet, then walked to the sofa, where I perched on the arm of it near Al and watched as he "brought the horses back to the stable."

"More! More!" Michele cheered.

"Nah, this old nag's had enough for now," said Al.

Bridget looked at me and asked hopefully, "Hold me?"

"Yes, baby, I can hold you now."

She slid off her father's leg and hurried to me, stretching her arms up. I bent and lifted her into an embrace, kissing her as soon as I got her settled.

"I love you, Bridget. Thank you for being patient." I tickled her cheek. "Daddy's right, you know. Theresa won't be a baby forever."

Al had adjusted Michele on his lap and he kissed her cheek as he looked up at me. "It seems like yesterday that the twins were newborns, doesn't it?"

I nodded, blinking away a sudden sheen of tears at the thought of how quickly they were getting older. The sound of Rick and Sally's door slamming open shortly followed by the revving of an engine caught my attention. Al and I both rose and moved to the window, still carrying the twins, to see Rick dashing to the running car with a suitcase, which got haphazardly tossed in the backseat before he took off for the house at a clip again.

"Must be time," I said to Al. He nodded, and we both walked outside just as Rick was shakily escorting Sally down the front porch steps.

"Looks like I'm following your lead, Beth," Sally said bravely. "Baby's decided to come a bit early like the twins did. Dr. Roberts told me the other day it could be anytime."

"You'll do fine," I assured her.

"I hope so," she answered shakily, and I knew she was probably remembering my labor for the twins.

"Sally, you're going to have an epidural…I didn't, remember?"

Relief flooded over her face and she nodded.

"Rick, don't forget to breathe," Al advised. "And…stay by Sally's side. Don't go look at the other end. Trust me on that one." He pointed to a thin pink line on his forehead. During Theresa's delivery, Dr. Winter had invited Al to step to the foot of the bed to witness her being born. At his first sight all the color had fled from his face and he'd fainted, cracking his head on a cabinet as he fell.

"Yes, listen to Al," I agreed. "They completely forgot all about me for a minute there, thanks to Mr. Squeamish."

"Who Mr. Skweemiss?" Bridget asked.

"Tell you in a minute, honey," I said. "Call us when the baby's here, okay?"

"Okay," Sally said. "Ohhhhh…."

"Gotta go!" Rick said, helping her into the car. He dashed around to the driver's side and backed out of the driveway, turning on the lights and siren of his police cruiser.

"Well, now that's a perk I wish I'd had when we were getting you to the hospital this time!" Al commented.

"I'll make sure the next one waits until Rick's home, how's that?" I smirked.

"Who Mr. Skweemiss?" Bridget repeated, now that our friends were gone.

I grinned at Al. "You want to field this one, honey?"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"

"Certainly not as long as you've got that, er, mark of honor showing," I giggled. I hurried back inside with Bridget, still sniggering as I checked on Theresa, who was sleeping soundly.

"Doesn't she look like an angel, Bree? You looked like that when you were her size."

"I did?"

"Would you like to see pictures?"

She nodded emphatically, and I put her down on the sofa while I walked to the shelf to get the album with their baby photographs in it. I sat next to her and put her in my lap before opening the album. Al and Michele came in and sat down beside us.

"What's this?" Al asked.

"I'm showing Bree their baby pictures."

"That us?" Michele asked, amazed, as she saw a picture of me in a wheelchair holding one baby in each arm.

"Yes, it is. This is you, Sheli, and Bree, you're here. That's the day we brought you home from the hospital."

We turned the page and Al started laughing, "I forgot about this one!"

In the photograph, taken while my mother had been in town to help after the twins were born, Al was asleep in an armchair, a small bottle dangling from his hand while a grumpy baby stared at the camera from her place snuggled against his bare chest.

"Who that?" Bridget asked.

I studied the picture. "I think it's you, Bridget."

She crinkled her eyebrows as she leaned back and regarded the picture. "I not 'member that."

"Of course you don't, honey," Al said. "Babies don't really make memories like big girls do."

"I 'member baby stuff," Michele argued. "I 'member lots."

Al seemed about to argue the point with her before finally laughing and turning to the photo album. "Oh, look…it's your first bath."

Mom had still been with us, so she'd gotten a shot of me and Al nervously washing the girls in infant tubs in the kitchen sink. We looked scared to death.

"Why we in the sink?" asked Michele.

"Because you were too little for the bathtub," I said. "Theresa's first bath was in the sink, too."

"Look! Nana!"

"Yes. Poor Papa…Nana stayed almost a month when you two were born. She only stayed a couple of weeks for Theresa."

"I miss Nana," Bridget said.

"So do I. But we'll see her and Papa at Thanksgiving. And we'll see Aunt Janie and Uncle Frank and your cousin Glenn. He must be nearly a year old now."

"Hope he looks more like Janie and less like Frank now," Al muttered.

I swatted his shoulder. "Behave yourself. You're setting a bad example."

"Can I help it if your sister doesn't have your good taste? I mean, you have to admit Frank does look a lot like a bulldog."

"Uncle Frank doggie?" Bridget asked. She giggled.

Michele joined in, "Uncle Frank doggie! Uncle Frank doggie! Uncle Doggie!" They dissolved into laughter.

"Now you've done it," I said. "It's your job to get them to forget that before Thanksgiving."

Al looked to the ceiling. "Why do they pick up on the things you don't want them to?"

"Uncle Doggie!" The twins laughed so loud they woke Theresa. Her shrill wails filled the room.

"Picture time's over," I announced, carefully closing the book and passing it to Al. "I probably need to change Theresa's diaper." I eased Bridget to the floor, kissing her forehead before I got up.

"Early talkers obviously become early snitchers," Al said, reaching out to tickle Bridget with one hand while he tickled Michele with the other.

Theresa stopped crying when I picked her up, and I checked her diaper to feel that it was wet. "We'll be back," I said.

"Mommy, wait," said Bridget, wiggling out of Al's reach.

"What is it, honey?"

"Kiss baby?"

"You want to kiss Theresa?" I clarified.

She nodded. I knelt and Bridget leaned close to gently kiss her baby sister's cheek. "Love Resa," she said.


	18. Friday, January 18, 1980

**Friday, January 18, 1980**

Bridget and Michele ran past the bedroom door, giggling in their game of back-and-forth tag. I paused in applying mascara, the wand still in my hand, and called out, "Girls! Stop running!" I dipped the wand back into the tube, and turned to see Bridget peering in the doorway.

"Mommy, how much longer?" she whined.

"As soon as I finish my makeup and get Theresa dressed. You two quit running around. You're getting all sweaty and your hair's coming loose."

She reached up to touch the loose ribbon sliding down her pigtail along with the elastic. Frowning, she reached up and yanked it out before I could stop her.

"Oh, Bridget," I groaned, as she walked up to me, the elastic and ribbon in her palm. I sealed the mascara and set it down, swapping it for a brush and smoothing her hair back into a pigtail, fastening the elastic and retying the pink ribbon into her brown hair. "There you go."

A moment later, her twin dashed into the room, her cheeks flushed as pink as her dress. Stray hairs poked out from her braid in all directions. She dashed up and poked Bridget in the ribs.

"Tag! You're it!" she shouted, turning on her heel to run off.

"Hold it!" I grabbed her arm. "No more tag. That goes for both of you," I added, seizing Bridget's hand as she reached out to poke Michele. "Ten minutes….that's all I'm asking of you. Ten minutes of sitting still while I finish up." I knew I was asking the impossible, but I was hopeful as they sat on the bed.

A wail notified me that Theresa had awakened. She always got cranky unless she woke up on her own, and I'd been dreading waking her. Knowing that I wouldn't stand a chance of finishing my makeup with her underfoot, I'd had no problem putting it off. I gave the twins a warning look as I went to Theresa.

Theresa was standing in her crib, holding on to the railing and crying. She stretched her arms out as soon as she saw me. "Mama!"

"Good morning, baby girl! Can you give Mommy a smile? Where's a smile for Mommy? There it is! C'mon, honey, let's get dressed for Daddy's promotion."

I picked her up, kissing her forehead and cheeks repeatedly to make her giggle as I retrieved the dress I'd bought earlier in the week for her to wear to the ceremony. Al had rolled his eyes, saying I was going a bit overboard, but I was proud of his accomplishment. Not to mention, as I'd reminded him, the moment was going to be immortalized in film and I wanted the girls to look nice. That had forestalled any further protests, and a long-suffering grin that I suspected hid appreciation was his final comment.

"Pit-ty!" Sixteen-month old Theresa preened before the mirror, turning around and lifting her dress to examine the ruffles on the bloomers covering her diaper.

"Very pretty, Resa. Now put your dress down…that's not polite. See how pretty your dress is when you wear it like a big girl?" I kept a steady patter running while I brushed her curls and then tied a ribbon around her head, making the bow at the center. "Give Mommy your foot so I can put your socks on. Theresa, don't curl your toes like that."

Theresa giggled and swung her foot back and forth, admiring the ruffled cuff while I put the sock on her other foot. The black patent leather shoes were a special prize to her, so I had no trouble getting them on. Done, she jumped to her feet and ran to the low-hung mirror to inspect herself again; smiling, she once more proclaimed it to be "Pit-ty!" and clapped her hands.

"That's Mommy's pretty baby," I agreed, getting to my feet and brushing the wrinkles out of my skirt.

"Pit-ty! Me Pit-ty! Pit-ty Mama!"

"Hopefully your sisters are still pretty," I grinned, swinging her into my arms. We walked back into my bedroom and I gasped.

My makeup was in disarray on the vanity. Quickly my gaze shifted from the mess to Bridget, whose back was to the door. She held an eyeliner in her right hand and she was just about to begin coloring Michele's eyebrow with it.

"Freeze!"

I dashed across the room, seizing Bridget's hand and stopping its descent before it could make a single mark on Michele's face. Michele already had huge rouge circles on her cheeks, and two open lipsticks in her hands. She'd apparently been trying to decide which one she wanted to wear.

"What is going on here?"

Michele looked hesitantly up at me. "We wanted to be pretty for Daddy's cewemony."

Bridget nodded emphatically and turned to face me, proudly saying, "See how pretty Michele made me?"

I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. The child had bright blue eyeshadow caked on in what seemed to be five layers. The deep gouge in my brand new blush made sense given the bright red circles on her face that would have been perfectly at home on Raggedy Ann. The kicker, though, was the application of lipstick—bright pink, with any area in the vicinity of Bridget's mouth having been deemed fair game.

"Me! Me!" shouted Theresa, who'd wriggled out of my hold onto the bed and was reaching for one of the lipsticks Michele held. Michele started to hand it to her when I intercepted.

"I'll take those," I said. I plucked the containers out of her hand and put them on the vanity with the rest of my destroyed cosmetics. Theresa screeched in protest and started crying.

"Michele. Bridget. Into the bathroom, both of you," I ordered over Theresa's squalling. They hesitated, then tearfully ran when I emphasized, "Now! I don't have time for this!"

I glanced at Theresa; her tantrum showed no signs of abating, but that would actually work to my advantage. I joined the twins in the bathroom. Bridget was sitting on the edge of the tub and Michele was sitting on the closed toilet lid. They looked nervously up at me.

"Are you gonna spank us?" Michele asked. Her sister burst into tears at the prospect.

"Bree, hush now…I'm not going to spank you." I reached for a washcloth and soaked it, calling her to me. As I scrubbed at the makeup, I said, "What made you decide to get into my makeup?"

"We wa-wanted to look pretty like you, Mommy," sniffled Bridget.

"Close your eyes for Mommy. You're too young for makeup, girls. And you do look pretty…or you did before you put all this goop on your face. I don't want you playing in my makeup anymore, do you understand me?"

"Yes, Mommy."

I studied Bridget's face. The lipstick had left stains, and I hadn't been able to completely remove the eyeshadow. Sighing, I reached for a bottle of eye makeup remover and dampened a cotton ball. Brandishing it, I told her to close her eyes again. When she did, I swabbed her eyes until the blue tint was gone, then wiped away the remover with the washcloth. It took cold cream to get the lipstick marks off. Afterwards, Bridget's face was bright pink. Fortunately, Michele had only had blush applied, and a little soap eradicated any traces.

"Bree, would you go check on Theresa, please, while I redo your sister's braid? Hold still, Michele."

"It pulls, Mommy," she whined, fidgeting.

"If you'd hold still it wouldn't pull as much. There."

Bridget came back into the bathroom. "Resa's asleep, Mommy."

"Oh, no," I groaned. I got up and walked into the bedroom. Sure enough, Theresa was sprawled on her back, eyes closed and her little chest rising and falling steadily.

"Ooooh, she's gonna be cranky if you wake her up," commented Michele.

"Well, we're going to let her sleep a little longer." I grabbed my purse and slung it over my shoulder before bending to pick up Theresa's limp form, her long arms and legs dangling like spaghetti. "Come on, girls. If we leave now, we won't be late."

They followed me downstairs and obediently put on their coats. I simply draped Theresa's around her and wedged my own jacket under my arm. I'd deal with putting it on in the car. The twins dawdled on the porch while I locked the front door, and then I sent Michele to the car with the keys to unlock it. Theresa only grunted when I settled her into the car seat, threading her arms into the coat sleeves before fastening the straps to secure her. On either side of her, Bridget and Michele settled into place, complaining about how the car seat was too wide.

I shrugged into my coat before getting into the car and shifting it into reverse, backing out of the driveway and heading for the interstate that would bring us to NAS Corpus Christi. As it was mid-morning, traffic was thick, but not so bad as it would have been at rush hour. A glance at my watch told me we'd make it in plenty of time. That's when I looked up and saw the brake lights lining the highway.

"Oh, no, not an accident," I groaned, creeping to a halt.

Slowly, we inched along the interstate, the signs notifying that NAS Corpus Christi was accessible in two exits taunting me. Once we did reach the base, I still had to navigate to Training Air Wing 4, then find the empty classroom where Al's promotion to captain would be taking place. I prayed a parking spot would be available nearby. I didn't even want to think about trying to hurry little legs in the cold.

"Come on," I muttered through gritted teeth, smacking the steering wheel in my frustration.

"Tell the mornons to move, Mommy!" Michele piped up.

"Tell the…what?"

"The mornons. Daddy says that the mornons don't know how to drive, so they should just move outta the way."

I started laughing. "Morons, Sheli? Is that what he called them?"

"That's not all he called them," put in Bridget. "He also said…"

Quickly interrupting before any of a number of words I could imagine Al having said left her lips, I suggested that we sing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" while we waited for the cars ahead of us to move. After three choruses, we were just one exit away from our destination and I willed the traffic to begin flowing. While I didn't exactly get my wish, it did start to pick up to slightly faster than a snail's pace.

"N…A…S…" spelled Bridget. "Daddy's work! We're almost at Daddy's work, Mommy!"

"Finally."

After I took the exit, I dared to go over the speed limit until I came to the guard booth at the base entrance. Upon checking the sticker on the windshield and my ID, the guard waved me in.

The twins took turns trying to identify the letters on the signs scattered around the base while I drove to the headquarters for TAW-4. "There's a P!" "I see a W….and a O…"

Amidst the alphabet soup of signs, I finally saw the one I wanted, and I turned down the street leading to the building which housed the headquarters for the flight training school. The parking lot was crowded, but I was able to find a parking spot only yards from the entrance. Once I turned off the engine I turned to face the girls.

"This is a very important day for Daddy. Parts of it may seem boring to you, but I need you to be on your best behavior. Daddy's going to be made a captain today and we're very proud of him. And we want him to be proud of us, too."

"We'll be good," Bridget assured me, and Michele nodded."Resa might be cranky, though," she added.

I glanced at my youngest, who was quietly snoring in her car seat. "We can hope not. C'mon, we're gonna be late."

They clambered out of the car and stood by, stamping their feet as the cold prickled through their tights. I maneuvered Theresa out of her car seat, amazed that she didn't awaken, and nudged the car door closed with my hip. The twins each took hold of a pocket of my coat as we made our way to the building.

Once inside I hesitated, unsure of which direction to go to find the classroom where the ceremony would be held. A young aviator passed by and stopped to look at us.

"May I help you find something?" he asked.

"Yes, please! We need to get to room A301."

He grinned, "For Commander Calavicci's promotion? I'm on my way there myself. Just follow me."

"Thank you. Come on, girls." We hurried after him and I tried halfheartedly to wake Theresa up. She didn't budge.

"My Daddy's gonna be a captain today," Bridget told the young lieutenant.

"Full bird," he nodded at her. "It's a very big day. You must be proud."

"I am," she said, the seriousness of her tone contrasted by the bouncing of her pigtails as she bobbed her head affirmatively.

"Here we are," he said, gesturing towards the open doorway, from which we could hear the low rumbling of conversation. "After you, ladies."

We walked in and I was taken aback at how crowded the room was. Al had said maybe a handful of people would show up, but it was apparent he'd underestimated his popularity. Michele tugged on my coat sleeve and asked if all the people were there for the ceremony.

"I think so, Sheli." I smiled. "I think those seats are for us." We were being waved over to a few chairs that had been clustered toward the front of the classroom. I helped the girls off with their coats as best I could, then passed Theresa to Bridget's lap while I shrugged out of my own. They helped me get Theresa out of her coat, and Theresa finally stirred and yawned.

"Wh-where?" she asked as she stretched.

"We're at Daddy's cewemony," Bridget told her. "You need to be on best behaver so Daddy will be proud."

"Where Daddy?" Theresa scanned the room, searching the sea of khaki and blue for her father's face.

"He's not here yet. He'll be here shortly." I sat down and nodded for Bridget to get Theresa settled in the seat closest to me.

"Mrs. Calavicci?" Lieutenant Commander John Borgen, one of the instructors, had come up to us. "Commodore Ipstitch and Commander Calavicci should be arriving any minute. Once the Commodore finishes his remarks, you and your daughters can move to stand behind Commander Calavicci." He noticed my anxious glance at the girls, and he smiled. "I'll keep an eye on them while you're pinning him."

I smiled back, "Thanks."

Borgen's attentive ears pricked at the sound of approaching footfalls and he moved to the doorway and called out, "Stand by." He glanced out briefly to confirm and then drew into a stiff posture. "Atten-hut!" The room fell silent and everyone snapped to attention a second before Commodore Joseph Ipstitch and Al walked into the room. Al blinked at the sight of the full room, his eyes sweeping across the assembly until they fell on me and the girls. He grinned briefly at us when the Commodore ordered everyone at ease. The two of them drew near to a lecture podium positioned at the front center of the room, a small table to the left of it. Al stood to the right of the podium while the Commodore took his place behind it and cleared his throat.

"Thank you all for coming," began Commodore Ipstitch. "Your presence here illustrates just how valued Commander Calavicci is. I couldn't have asked for a better Chief Staff Officer, and I know the rest of the command will agree with me on that. It's my delight and my privilege to not only be present at his promotion to captain, but to take part in it. Commander Calavicci's family is here, I see." He nodded and smiled in our direction. "I'm sure they're very proud."

"We are!" interjected Bridget loudly. The room was filled with a rumble of chuckles, and Al lifted a hand to his mouth and coughed, unable to stifle the smirk. Michele gave her twin a scandalized stare.

Grinning, Ipstitch continued with his remarks, praising Al's dedication to the command as well as to their students. He concluded, "Therefore, it gives me great pleasure to administer the oath."

Master Chief Watters moved to the table and called out, "Attention to orders."

I rose, carrying Theresa and nudging Bridget and Michele into motion. We crossed to stand just behind Al as Commodore Ipstitch moved forward to stand opposite him. They each raised their right hand, and Commodore Ipstitch asked Al to repeat the oath after him line by line.

"I, Albert Calavicci, do solemnly swear

That I will support and defend

The constitution of the United States

Against all enemies, foreign and domestic.

That I will bear true faith

And allegiance to the same;

That I take this obligation freely,

Without any mental reservation

Or purpose of evasion;

And that I will faithfully discharge

The office on which

I am about to enter,

So help me God."

The twins started to politely applaud, but I reached down to still their hands and subtly shook my head at them. Commodore Ipstitch nodded at me, and I put Theresa down and joined him to stand before Al. Al stared directly ahead as we removed the rank insignia from his collar and handed them to Watters, who held out the small eagles to us. Ipstitch took one and passed me the other. While the commodore fastened the new rank insignia on Al's left collar, I slipped the pin into the holes left by the old insignia and affixed the frogs to the back. Al slid his eyes toward me and quickly winked then returned his gaze to center as Ipstitch and I stepped back.

Applause broke out and I beamed proudly at Al. Excitedly, the girls clapped and cheered. The enlisted man taking pictures knelt and snapped a photo of their enthusiasm, smiling up at us as he rose to his feet.

"Captain?" Ipstitch smiled as he handed Al a pen to sign the paperwork. Al signed with a flourish while the photographer snapped. Once the paperwork was signed, applause filled our ears again, and we were arranged into a formal pose. Commodore Ipstitch and Al shook hands and held the paperwork while the girls and I were grouped beside Al. After that a few pictures were taken of Al and Ipstitch alone, then a family photo. Finally, Ipstitch turned to Al and asked if he'd like to say a few words. Smiling, Al turned to face the assembled command.

"This is one of the best groups of people I've ever had the privilege to serve with, and I want to thank you all for sharing this moment with me. It means a lot. You are all so dedicated and organized that it makes my job a lot easier. It's an honor to serve alongside you." He turned to indicate me and the girls. "I want to thank my family, too. My wife and my daughters have supported me every step of the way, and if it weren't for them, I wouldn't be standing here right now. And, finally, I'd like to thank Commodore Ipstitch. It's a pleasure to serve under you, sir."

Cheers and applause followed Al's remarks. Ipstitch shook his hand again, followed by the master chief, then Borgen, and then the assembled group filed toward the front to congratulate Al and shake his hand. In a small pause between people, Al leaned toward me and whispered, "Glad you made it."

"We almost didn't," I whispered back, pausing to smile and thank an aviator. In the next pause, I added, "Your daughters got into my makeup."

Al leaned forward to check their faces and raised his eyebrows inquisitively before thanking the commander now shaking his hand. "You'll have to tell me _that_ story later," he said as the next man in line extended a hand for him to shake.

* * *

"I wish you'd taken a picture," laughed Al when I finished describing the way the twins had looked. 

"I could have brought them to the ceremony done up like that so you could see them firsthand and have it immortalized in film. Wouldn't that look great in the newsletter?"

"Good point. Still, I'd have liked to have seen that."

"We barely made it to the room before you did as it was. Besides, I'm sure they'll manage to get into my makeup again."

"No doubt about that!"

I snorted and shook my head. To change the subject, I fingered the small eagle rank insignia I'd pinned to his khaki collar that morning.

"It suits you."

He grinned and covered my hand with his. "You suit me." He leaned forward and kissed me.

"Daddy!" A loud shriek interrupted us, and Bridget and Michele dashed in, waving papers at him. "We drew you a pictcha!"

"A 'pictcha', huh?" he grinned, reaching out to take them. "Tell me about it."

Theresa toddled in while Bridget looked at the picture on top. "That one's mine." She pointed at the stick figures in it. "That one's Mommy, and that's me, and that's Sheli. And that's Resa. And that's you."

I put Theresa in my lap and glanced at the picture. "What's that all over Daddy's arms?"

She looked at me as if I was stupid. "Feathers."

"Feathers?" Al and I exchanged a confused look. "Why do I have feathers, Bree?"

Exasperated, she put her hand on her hip and rolled her eyes. "Because…the man in the hall said you were a bird today!"

I hooted with laughter while Al snorted and chuckled. "This one's going to the office on Monday."

"What bout mine?" demanded Michele.

"Oh yes," said Al, swiftly switching pictures to put Michele's on top. He grinned at her. "No feathers, I see. So tell me about this one."

"It's you after Mommy and that man changeded your pins. You're smiling because you're happy."

"Who's this?"

"That man."

"He's not smiling."

"I think he stucked himself with the pin," Michele explained.

Al chuckled. "Is this Mommy?"

"Uh-huh. She's proud of you. And this is us, and we're proud of you, too."

Pointing to the bottom of the page, Al asked, "And what are all these loops at the bottom?"

"That's all the people who came to see you."

He reached to kiss them both. "Thank you, girls. I really like these. We'll put them on the refrigerator until Monday when I take them to work with me."

"Okay," they beamed, then skipped out of the room. Theresa squirmed out of my lap and waddled after them.

"I didn't put the girls down for a nap today," I said. "So hopefully they'll fall asleep earlier than usual tonight."

"Oh?"

The curious grin spreading across Al's face turned salacious when I answered him.

"Well, you know, I've never slept with a captain before."

* * *

**Author's Note: **_This chapter owes an enormous debt of gratitude to Ann Marie Marvin for procedural information and accuracy checking. --JLR_


	19. Thursday, March 13, 1980

**Thursday, March 13, 1980**

My hands trembled as I reached for my purse then closed my locker. I sank down onto the changing bench and took a shaky breath. A light hand stroked my shoulders and I turned to see Hannah Larson sympathetically smiling down at me.

"Rough day, wasn't it?"

I fought to keep my wry chuckle from turning into a sob. "You can say that again."

Hannah sat down next to me and patted my knee. "You don't look so good, Beth. You okay?"

Rubbing my nose with a shaking hand, I shrugged as I said, "I'll be fine. I just…I just need to go home."

"Well, don't let me keep you. Go home and take a good long nap. Try and get your mind off it."

"Wish I could. I've got to pick up my kids from nursery school."

She shook her head. "No, you don't. Call your husband and ask him to. You go home and take a nap."

"I don't know."

"I do." Hannah grabbed my shoulders and urged me to my feet, steering me to the phone on the wall. "Call him. You're not going to be any good to us tomorrow otherwise, and God knows we need you."

"Because I'm the only one she knows," I sighed.

"Not just because of that, but…yeah." She lifted the receiver and handed it to me.

Knowing she was right, I dialed Al's number with my quivering index finger. He answered after two rings.

"Calavicci."

"Hi, hon."

"Hey, babe. What's up?"

"I have a favor to ask of you."

"What is it?"

I took a deep breath. "Do you think you could pick up the girls this evening?"

He was instantly attentive. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing."

"Beth..." His tone was warning that he wouldn't brook non-answers.

"Okay…it's been a hard day. I'll tell you about it tonight, but I-I can't right now. I just…" I sniffed and fought to keep my composure. "I just need a nap and I'll be fine."

Now Al's tone was concerned and full of caring. "Oh, honey." He stopped for a second and he must have put his hand over the mouthpiece to speak to someone in his office because everything was muffled. After a moment, he came back. "I've got some things to finish up here first, but I'll take care of the girls; you just go home and rest. And don't worry about dinner, either."

"Thanks, Al. I love you."

"I love you, too. See you tonight."

"Bye."

Hannah beamed triumphantly at me when I hung up the phone. "There. All taken care of." She eyed me appraisingly. "You know, I don't know that you should be driving."

"I'm fine, Hannah."

"Hold out your hand."

I let out an annoyed sigh and started for my purse, but Hannah moved to block me. "Hold out your hand," she repeated.

Knowing she'd never let me pass if I didn't comply, I held my hand out in front of me. It was steady, but I'd never let her know I was as surprised as she was.

"Were you planning on driving me home?"

"If I had to," responded Hannah. "Geoff's picking me up so he could've followed me." She watched me pick up my purse and dig inside it for my keys. "You be careful."

"I will." I waved with more cheer than I felt, but wasn't fooling her. "See you tomorrow."

Hannah nodded soberly as I left. I made my way to the parking garage and found my car. When I sank into the driver's seat, I started the car and drove home on autopilot, only aware enough of the cars around me to avoid an accident. With no idea of how long it had taken, I pulled into our driveway and cut the engine.

Robotically, not wanting to let my mind go where it willed, I got out of the car and walked up the drive to the front door, letting myself in. Inside, I closed the door and leaned heavily against it. On our foyer table, a framed 8 x 10 of our latest family portrait greeted me, but all it did was cause the tears to start flowing as I thought back on the patients I'd seen that morning and all that they'd lost. _Especially her_.

I shook my head and rubbed my eyes. "No," I said aloud. "I'm not going to give in to this." I unbuttoned my nurse's uniform as I went upstairs, having been too drained to deal with showering and changing into my street clothes at the hospital. Of course, I realized, that meant that I'd left my clothes in my locker, having grabbed only my purse. I sighed as I stripped, haphazardly throwing my stockings and undergarments in a pile at the foot of the bed instead of bringing them to the laundry hamper. My uniform I did at least lay out neatly at the foot of the bed before padding into the bathroom and starting the shower.

I stood under the stream of steaming hot water, unaware of how many tears flowed down my cheeks to swirl down the drain. Bowing my head forward, I let my wet hair hang over my face as the water poured down my neck and back, my shoulders shaking with sobs that I could no longer contain. All I could imagine was being in the same dire situation, how I'd feel.

_Could I live without Al?_ I had lived without him for eight years when he was a POW—two of those fearing the worst when he was M.I.A. before that mysterious angelic visitor had assured me Al was alive—but now that time in my life seemed as far off as a distant dream. We'd spent the past five years making up for lost time. He was my strength, my love. _My life._ I braced my hands against the tiles in the shower and sobbed so hard my stomach knotted up. It wasn't just the thought of losing Al that consumed me. It wasn't even identifying with her loss as deeply as I did. I knew her. And I'd known her husband and son.

Somehow I managed to stop crying and finished my shower. I stepped out and toweled off, wrapping the towel around me when I was done. Moving to the vanity, I sat and combed the tangles out of my hair. "What is wrong with me?" I asked my reflection, my red nose and eyes glaring evidence of my lack of detachment. Sighing, I put down the comb and got dressed, opting for a pair of Al's sweatpants and one of his T-shirts, both emblazoned with **NAVY**. My damp hair quickly darkened the shoulders of the T-shirt, but I didn't feel like messing with the hair dryer. I lay down on top of the bedspread, curling onto my side and hugging my arms to myself. I closed my eyes, but thoughts of everything I'd seen and heard that day swirled through my mind so that I doubted I'd be able to fall asleep.

* * *

Michele's loud whisper sounded from the hall. "Is Mommy okay?" 

"She's fine, munchkin, she just doesn't feel good right now," Al assured her in a low voice. "You and Bree wash up and help Theresa, too, and then we'll have dinner."

"All right, Daddy."

I smiled halfheartedly at him as he walked to the bed and sat down beside me. He tucked my hair behind my ear and then bent to kiss me.

"Oh, honey," murmured Al.

I sat up and reached out to pull him to me, hugging him as tight as I could. Al stroked the crown of my head, waiting for me to release before loosening his hold on me. He rested his hands on my shoulders and studied my face.

"I brought home takeout. You up to eating something?"

I wasn't, but I rubbed my face and nodded. Al smiled and kissed my cheek then rose and helped me to my feet. He glanced at my attire and the smile twisted so slightly that anyone else would have missed it.

"I'm guessing 'hard day' was the understatement of the year."

He didn't say more. He didn't have to. Al knew the state of mind that would compel me to raid his drawer. All he added was, "We'll talk after dinner."

I paused by my dresser to grab a pair of socks and slip them on. "My feet are cold," I explained when Al turned back to see what was keeping me.

He grinned at me as if to say, _"I didn't say a word."_ Instead he called into the hallway, "All washed up, girls? Mommy's ready to have dinner."

Bridget hollered from the hall bathroom, "Almost. Resa…wait!" Her protests were wasted as Theresa barreled out of the bathroom, her hands and arms dripping suds up to the elbows.

"Mama!"

I knelt to receive her, hugging her close and kissing her cheeks. "Hi, sweetheart. What do you say we go rinse off?" I glanced up at Al and at Michele and Bridget who'd drawn near. "We'll meet you downstairs."

Theresa giggled as I guided her arms under the flow of water and sloughed away the soap with my fingers. I wrapped her arms one by one in the hand towel and rubbed her dry. As I carried her downstairs, I asked her, "What did Daddy bring us for supper?"

"I dunno," she shrugged, her shoulders bobbing exaggeratedly.

"I guess we should find out then, huh?" I smiled at her.

"Mmmm. Smells mmmm, Mama!"

"Yes, it does." We walked into the dining room to see Bridget and Michele hungrily biting into hamburgers.

Theresa gasped, "No pray!" She shook her finger crossly at her sisters.

Al came over to take Theresa from me and settle her into her booster seat. "My fault, Resa. The food was getting cold and they were hungry."

She tsk'ed at him and made a show of pressing her palms together and bowing her head. "God great, God good, t'ank food!" She raised her head and nodded, looking around expectantly.

"Amen," we chorused.

Satisfied, Theresa began nibbling on a French fry.

I made an effort to eat, but spent most of the meal studying our daughters as they ate and jabbered excitedly. I focused on the life in their voices, trying to pull myself out of dejection. By the time they were finished eating, over two-thirds of my burger remained, and my mood hadn't improved much. The twins regarded my food, looking uncertainly at each other and then at Al.

"You can get up and go play until bathtime," he told them. "I'll keep Mommy company while she finishes."

Al helped the girls gather their wrappers into one of the empty takeout bags then sent all three of them upstairs to play. I watched them go and turned to face my husband.

"Thank you."

He smiled and nodded as he ran a finger along my forearm. "I wish you'd eat more. I'm willing to bet you didn't have lunch today."

"You'd be right," I sighed, picking up the burger and taking a bite of it. I chewed it well past the point of swallowing and had to wash it down with a swig of soda before I gagged. "I'm sorry, Al. I'm just not hungry."

"Okay." He wrapped up the remnants of my sandwich and tucked it into the sack along with the rest of the trash and set about cleaning the table. I sat with my hands folded in my lap and studied my wedding set, the sparkle of the diamond and the gleam of the gold. My examination was halted when Al laid his hand over mine. Lifting my head, I saw him looking at me with tender eyes. "What happened today?"

"You heard about the fire last night, didn't you? At the Terraza Apartments?"

He nodded. "I had a feeling that had something to do with this. Your ward must be overloaded."

"We're running at full capacity. Most of the residents were asleep when it broke out, so you can imagine the injuries are pretty severe."

"Lose many?" The words were abrupt but the way he spoke them was kind.

"A…a few." I took a shaky breath. "We'll probably lose a couple more in the next day or so."

Al reached to gently tug on the sleeve of the T-shirt I wore. "Was it a specific patient who brought this on?"

I nodded. "Trinh Carver."

He sat up a little straighter at the name. "Trinh? Jim Carver's wife? I didn't know they lived there. How badly is she burned?"

"Third-degree burns over 72 of her body. She had on a polyester nightgown and it fused to her skin in spots. And she was pregnant—due in a few weeks, they said. They did an emergency C-section when she was brought in."

Al let out a low sympathetic whistle. "How's Jim taking it?"

Tears brimmed over my lower lashes and I shook my head as I answered, "Oh, Al. He and Craig didn't make it." Al was stunned and I reached to touch his hand. "I'm sorry, honey…I know you were friends. I should've told you straight off."

"No. It's okay, Beth." He lowered his head and shook it thoughtfully. After a moment he breathed in deeply and looked at me with a wry, knowing smile. "So that's why you're wearing my clothes tonight."

I rubbed the soft, worn cotton of his T-shirt and returned his smile, tilting my head to the side. My voice cracked as I told him, "I couldn't bear losing you like that. I couldn't bear losing you at all."

He drew me into his arms and kissed my temple. "I'm right here, honey. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know." Wiping at my eyes, I said, "Craig wasn't much older than Theresa. Do you remember how they played at the picnic?"

"You've been thinking about what it would be like to lose the girls, too, haven't you?" Al crooked a finger under my chin and looked into my eyes. "I know—that was a dumb question."

I shrugged and gave him a weak smile. "I shouldn't be letting this get to me like this."

"Maybe you should let someone else cover for you tomorrow."

"No. No, I can't." I was going to continue when we heard a thud and a screech. Moments later Theresa came running to me, shrieking, "Mama!" and sobbing. I scooped her into my arms. "What happened, baby?"

The twins appeared in the doorway, hanging back guiltily and trying to look innocent while Theresa gasped and squalled, thick tears pouring forth. All she managed to do by way of explanation was point to her brushburned elbows. The rawness stretched from the point of her elbows to midway down her forearms.

"Resa…oh, honey. Mommy'll make it better."

Al beckoned the twins with a curved index finger and a serious expression on his face. "What happened?"

The twins looked at each other. Silently deemed spokesperson, Bridget said, "Theresa wanted to play mountain climber."

"She did, huh? How do you play 'mountain climber'?"

"She holds on to the jump rope and we pull her up the stairs like it was a mountain." Bridget shrugged. "She was mostly up the stairs and then we pulled hard and she let go."

Theresa was still screaming on my lap as I studied her for additional injuries. Her palms each had a red stripe spanning the center but they didn't appear blistered. She'd apparently smacked her chin on a stair, the thud we'd heard, because I saw a red mark there.

Al was scolding the twins, his voice hard. "She's eighteen months old! She can barely string a sentence together and you expect me to believe that the game was her idea? You think she can hold on to a rope while you drag her upstairs? What kind of game is that?"

"Well…" Bridget looked at the floor. Michele pulled on her lower lip as she looked at Theresa crying in my arms.

"Are we in trouble?" Michele asked.

"Yes, ma'am," responded Al.

Both twins looked to me to plead for intervention. I shook my head and stood, shushing Theresa. "I'm going upstairs to take care of Theresa's scrapes. I'll leave your punishment up to Daddy." I carried Theresa upstairs and managed to stem her tears. "It's going to be okay, honey, Mommy's going to put some medicine on your boo-boos."

Theresa nodded, sniffling as she whined, "Boo-boos hurt, Mama."

"I know they do, baby girl."

I held on to her while I retrieved the peroxide, cotton balls, and Bacitracin ointment. This part I wasn't looking forward to. I grabbed a towel and sat on the floor with her, then soaked a cotton ball with peroxide.

"Mommy has to clean your boo-boos first, honey. Give me your arm."

I held on to her left arm with a loose but firm grip and squeezed the cotton ball over the raw skin. Theresa howled and started crying again, while I blew on the bubbling scrape to ease the stinging.

"I'm sorry, Resa, I know that stung, sweetie. Let me put the ointment on it and it'll feel better."

"No!" she screamed, her shrieks piercing as I spread the clear medicine over the abrasion.

"There, isn't that better now?"

Sucking on her lower lip, Theresa craned her head to look at the shiny layer coating her brushburn. I reached for her right arm, and she started screaming and trying to jerk her arm away before I'd even soaked the cotton ball.

"I know, baby…I know. I'm so sorry. Mommy will blow on it, I promise." Gritting my teeth, I squeezed the cotton ball to release the trickle of peroxide. Theresa's yelping increased in volume as I let it bubble and then started blowing. She gave me a look of betrayal as I applied the ointment.

"How's your chin?"

She clamped both hands over it as if she was afraid I'd make it hurt next.

"Do you want a cold rag to hold on it?"

Weepy eyes watched me cautiously as she nodded. I picked up the peroxide and ointment and tossed the cotton balls in the wastebasket then opened the linen cabinet and withdrew a washcloth. I ran the cold water and soaked the rag, squeezed it out, and handed it to Theresa. "Hold that under your chin, honey."

She gingerly pressed it to her chin and pouted. "Boo-boos hurt, Mama," she said in a sulky voice.

"I tell you what, let's get in our jammies, okay?" I carried her into her room and noticed Al marshalling the twins upstairs. "What's up?" I called.

"We're going to bed early tonight," Al said. "Bathtime's been moved up and storytime is under debate." He waited until they were in their bedroom getting their pajamas out of their dresser to whisper, "I'm not really going to take away the story…but I'm letting them think it's a possibility." He cleared his throat and used a mild version of his "captain's voice" to order the twins into the bathroom. They scurried past him and before he followed them in, he said, "We'll finish our conversation when the kids are asleep."

I nodded and smiled to thank him and then returned my attention to the task at hand. "Now, Theresa, Mommy's going to try not to let the fabric touch your boo-boos. I got a short-sleeved nightie for you."

"'Kay," she sniffed. She looked apprehensive when I held her arms to guide them through the sleeves of her shirt, and both of us breathed a sigh of relief when neither part of the changing process brushed her scrapes. Her diaper was dry, so I moved to the rocking chair and sat down with her. "No sleep," she protested.

"You don't have to go to sleep," I said, starting the rocker into motion. "Mommy just wants to sit down for a little while. You just keep holding that cold rag under your chin."

"'Kay." She pressed the rag to her chin and tried to sit ramrod straight, but gradually leaned back so that her head was resting against my chest. I started humming, and she frowned. "No sleep, Mama!"

"Hmm? Oh, no, no, honey, you don't have to go to sleep. I just felt like humming."

Theresa looked at me suspiciously, but leaned against me again. I started humming again.

"Is she awake, Beth?"

Theresa perked up and sat up. "Daddy!"

I smiled. "Does that answer your question?"

Al nodded and snapped his fingers, pointing at the floor in front of him. Sheepishly, Bridget and Michele came in smelling of soap, their hair freshly combed. They walked over to Theresa and stood there uncertainly, neither wanting to be the first to speak.

"Theresa, your sisters have something to say to you," prompted Al.

"We're sorry," they chorused.

"For?"

Bridget spoke first, "For tricking you into playing mountain climber."

"And for making you hurt your arms," finished Michele.

"We won't do it again," Bridget added.

"Promise," said Michele, drawing an "x" over her heart with her index finger.

I rubbed Theresa's shoulders. "What do you say, Theresa? Do you forgive them?"

"I forgib!" Theresa leaned forward to kiss her sisters.

"All right, girls. Get into bed and I'll be right there to tuck you in and read you a story."

"You're still gonna read us a story, Daddy?" Bridget beamed and Michele clapped her hands. They took turns giving me a goodnight hug and kiss and then left the room.

Al bent in front of me and smiled at Theresa. "You gonna be okay, munchkin? You gonna live?" he asked her, ruffling her hair. He kissed her on the forehead and nose. "Did Mommy make you feel better? Did your boo-boos stop hurting?"

She nodded and slipped a thumb into her mouth, crooking her index finger around her nose.

Al grinned at me. "She won't be much longer."

"Probably not," I agreed.

"No sleep," Theresa mumbled around her thumb.

"No, of course not," I said in a soothing voice, gesturing for Al to leave and read to the twins. "You don't have to go to sleep."

I started the rocker's motion again and softly hummed before gradually segueing into "Stay Awake" from _Mary Poppins_. The song usually worked like a charm on Theresa, and tonight was no exception. It did take a few more rounds than usual, but by the time Al switched off the light in the twins' room and came in to check on us, she was breathing steadily and well on her way to the land of Nod.

Al pulled her sheets back so I could settle her into her crib, then he tucked her in and we both brushed kisses against her cheek. I switched on her nightlight while Al turned off the overhead. He waited for me in the doorway, wrapping an arm around my waist and pressing a kiss to my temple.

"Never a dull moment."

"That's for sure." I leaned my head against his shoulder.

"Come on, baby, I'll fix you some tea and we'll finish our conversation."

I nodded and we went downstairs. Al filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to boil then joined me at the table in the breakfast nook. He rested his chin on his hand and gently said, "So tell me why you have to go in tomorrow."

"Well, setting aside the fact that we're swamped with patients with second- and third-degree burns, it's because of Trinh."

"You said she's 72 burned. Isn't she drugged-up on morphine?"

I nodded, "But, Al…she recognized me."

"Honey, are you sure she did? I mean, I know you've been really identifying with her. But you only met her a few times. Is it possible that you, I don't know…?"

"Is it possible that I imagined it, you're saying?" I folded my arms and gave him an irritated glare. "I could give you a laundry list of all the physiological signs, but considering she said my name, I'd say that makes it pretty clear that she recognized me."

Al quickly held his hands up in front of him. "Okay, hon, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. What else did she say?"

Looking at the table, I admitted, "Not much. At least, not much we could understand. We think it's the shock, but she's pretty much only able to speak Vietnamese now."

"Can she understand you?"

"We think so. I mean, we can't be sure." I sighed. "Anyway, as far as we can tell, she's waiting to die."

The kettle whistled and Al got up to remove it from the heat. As he rummaged in the pantry for the tea, he carefully commented, "Should she be doing otherwise, Beth?"

I steepled my hands over my face, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "She was in bad shape when they brought her in, and the C-section weakened her further. We've done a tracheotomy because her airway was so damaged, and this afternoon we had to do escharotomies on her chest and extremities."

Al brought the mug to me, his finger bouncing the tea bag by its string to steep it quicker. He winced when I mentioned the last procedure. I'd explained to him before why we made the incisions in the dead tissue—to relieve pressure and fluid buildup—but he still found it harsh. "So there's a chance she'll recover?"

I paused in pressing the tea bag against the bowl of the spoon to answer him. "There's always a chance, but the odds aren't good." I looked at him and shook my head. "We're trying to save her life—trying everything we can. But I'm afraid all we'll be able to do is prevent infection and make her as comfortable as possible."

"Until the end," Al gently offered, reaching to pat my hand.

Pressing my lips together, I nodded, blinking back tears. "I feel like we're torturing her! Trinh kept crying the same things over and over again. I wish I knew what she was saying." I took a sip of tea, not caring that it scalded my tongue.

"Can you remember anything she said?"

I closed my eyes and focused. "One thing might have been…con guy."

Al repeated it a couple of times to himself. "Beth, was it _con gái_?" He refined my attempts at pronunciation.

"Yes. That was it!"

"Hmmm. That means daughter."

"She had a girl. We told her that several times today."

"How's the baby?"

I wrapped my hands around the mug. "She's in critical care, last I heard. I hate that she's never going to know her parents."

Al touched my elbow. "Did Trinh say anything else?"

"Hannah told me something she'd moaned repeatedly. She wrote it down and I put it in my pocket." I gasped. "It's here! I forgot…I didn't change at the hospital. My uniform's on the bed!"

"I'll get it, babe. Drink your tea." He got up and I heard the thump of his footsteps jogging up the stairs. Moments later he started down the steps, the speed of his pace slower as he absorbed the phonetic scrawl on the scrap of paper. Al walked back into the room and rejoined me at the table, his lips moving as he silently tried to make sense of Hannah's attempts at capturing Trinh's words.

"Near as I can figure," he finally said, "she's saying 'all hope is gone.'"

I groaned and buried my face in my hands. "That's how I feel."

Al rubbed my arm reassuringly and I started crying. "Beth, oh, sweetie." He got up and embraced me. "Beth, baby, what can I do to help?"

"Just hold me for starters."

He did.

"It's just not right," I wept. "We try to save her life, but she's too badly burned. Now because of what we're doing, she has to suffer until she finally dies anyway." I looked up at him. "I don't know anymore, Al. It's not that we shouldn't try everything to save her life, but why can't she just die in peace? And what about her baby?"

Al tenderly squeezed my shoulder and planted a kiss on my forehead. "Doesn't she have any relatives that could take the baby?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. Besides, we can't seem to communicate with her. Not really."

"Does anyone on staff speak Vietnamese?"

I shook my head and took a sip of tea. "We couldn't find anyone today."

Al returned to his seat and looked thoughtfully at me, rubbing the back of his neck. He seemed to be weighing something and came to a decision. Giving me a smile, he said, "_Có công mài sắt có ngày nên kim._"

My breath caught in my throat. "Al?"

"If there's a will, there's a way," he translated. Al lightly kissed my tear-stained cheek. "I'm nowhere near as fluent as Jim Carver was, but maybe I can recall enough to talk with Trinh tomorrow."

* * *

**Author's Note: **_An immense debt of gratitude is owed to the owners/webmasters of the following sites for their invaluable information on Vietnamese language, grammar, syntax, pronunciation, etc. : **Vietnamese Dictionary Online - Tu dien Anh Phap Viet** and **Vietnamese Online**. The Vietnamese idiom Al says comes direct from **Vietnamese Online** with many thanks. _

_JLR_


	20. Friday, March 14, 1980

**Friday, March 14, 1980**

"D-do you think it'll heal, Nurse?"

I paused in applying silver sulfadiazine to Troy Faulkner's right arm and looked into the earnest green eyes that were watching everything I did. The third-degree burns had been debrided until they were pink and, because they spanned the circumference of his arm as well as its length, Dr. Petersen had performed escharotomies to cut through the layers of dead, damaged skin to the living tissue to prevent the furthering of compartment syndrome (which often led to amputation if not halted). As long as we could avoid infection, things looked good for Troy.

"It won't ever be pretty to look at, but Dr. Petersen thinks you'll regain the use of your arm."

"That's not what I asked. You're the one taking care of it. Do _you_ think it'll heal?" He lifted his head off the pillow, momentarily craning his head to check his own arm before returning his attention to me.

"I do."

Troy let out a relieved breath and sagged back against his pillow. I resumed the application of the medicine and bandaged his arm under layers of gauze.

"How's the pain? Do you need anything?"

"I can handle it. Lets me know I'm alive."

I smiled at him as I smoothed the medication over the second-degree burns on his neck and lower jaw. "You sound like my husband."

Troy grinned at me, jiggling the oxygen tube spreading across his cheeks to loop around his ears. "Is he in construction, too?"

"No, he's in the Navy." I fastened the lid on the container of silver sulfadiazine and returned it to the cart. I peeled off my surgical gloves and washed my hands before returning to my patient's bedside to mark his chart. "Now, I'm serious, Troy," I told him as I replaced the chart at the foot of his bed. "You need to let us know when you need something for the pain."

"If it gets bad enough, I will."

"Yeah, you're exactly like my husband." I patted his foot on my way out of the room, bringing the small cart back to the nurse's station. Hannah took charge of it and told me I had a visitor. I turned and smiled to see Al waiting at the far end of the station. _Speak of the devil._

"Hi," I said, walking over and embracing him. "I just finished my rounds."

"Right on schedule," he smiled. "How's Trinh?"

My smile faltered. "Weaker. Are you ready?"

Al nodded and quietly followed me into Trinh Carver's room. The respirator's pump hissed noisily as it delivered oxygen to Trinh's damaged lungs through the tracheotomy. A nasogastric tube was threaded through her left nostril to supply nourishment. Pain was visible in her blood-red eyes as she tracked our movement to her bedside. I was proud of Al for his ability not to react in horror at Trinh's raw, tortured, blackened, and twisted skin visible around the mesh bandages. We had begun debriding the necrotic tissue that morning and the procedure had left its painful mark.

"Hello, Trinh," I gently said to break the silence. "You remember my husband, Al."

Trinh's once refined voice rasped as she repeated Al's name in the space allowed her between cycles of the respirator. She blinked and inclined her head in greeting. Even mangled, she held on to her dignity.

Visibly moved, Al stepped closer to Trinh. _"Tôi rất lấy làm tiếc,"_ he said slowly in Vietnamese.

Trinh's eyes widened in surprise and even relief. When Al mentioned Jim's name I realized he was beginning by offering his condolences. Trinh wept as she forced her answer around the respirator's rhythm. Al smiled sadly at her and briefly turned to me.

"She said she's looking forward to being with Jim and Craig again."

I closed my eyes at Trinh's acceptance of her fate. Her sorrowed tone as she continued drew my attention back. Al gently questioned Trinh in halting Vietnamese that grew slightly stronger as the conversation progressed.

Finally, Trinh signaled an end. "Tired," she rasped in one of the few English words left to her.

Nodding, Al uttered a farewell phrase in Vietnamese as she wearily closed her eyes. We left the room and I led the way to one of the lounge areas on the floor.

"She has no family," Al flatly stated, when we were alone inside. "Her parents and sisters were killed in an attack in Vietnam and her brothers were killed after they refused to join the Vietcong. Jim was all she had, and I know he had no one left either. I even checked his file at the base to make sure."

"No wonder death looks promising."

Al nodded, "But she's afraid she'll die before her baby's fate is decided. Trinh wants that settled before she dies."

"Well, I'll talk to Dr. Petersen immediately. But, Al, I don't know if an adoption agency can find a family that quickly, no matter how desperately someone wants a baby. And, much as I hate to say it, I'm not sure it'll be easy to place her, judging from some of the reactions to the refugees I've encountered lately." I sank into a chair, stricken by the seeming hopelessness of the situation.

"I'll tell you what will happen. That child will either be sent to a home or shuffled from foster family to foster family. Possibly both," Al glared at the floor. "I've lived that, Beth. I'd hate to see it happen to Trinh's little girl. Jim Carver was a friend of mine, his child deserves better than that. _Any_ child deserves better than that."

"But what can we do? Unless . . ." I stopped and looked intently at Al. "Al, do you suppose we . . . I mean, I don't normally make decisions this quickly, especially one this big, but . . ."

Al took my hand, his thoughts running along the same lines. "Beth, we could adopt the baby."

"Yes, we could." I smiled and then immediately frowned as I questioned my own words. "But are we rushing into this?"

"Would it really be that much different if we found out you were pregnant today?"

"You've got a point," I nodded. "Adoption. Al, this is serious—it's forever. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he affirmed. Al looked down at our joined hands for a moment before raising his head to meet my eyes. His face and voice were solemn. "I grew up in an orphanage, Beth. As much as I missed my Dad after he died, as much as I missed Trudy, and no matter how much of a little punk I could be, I wanted to be part of a family. No, it was more than that. I _needed_ to be in a family." He shrugged and smiled as he pressed my fingers and earnestly continued, "I have one now. All the love I was looking for, everything I needed—it's in our family. You gave me that, you and the girls. You gave me this terrific family—and we've got room in it for Trinh's baby. Let's offer this to her." It was amazing how simple and clear the decision was.

Nodding, I patted his cheek as I stood. "I'll go find Dr. Petersen." Impulsively, I bent and kissed him long and hard.

Al blinked in surprise. "What was that for?" he asked with a pleased smile.

"For being you," I answered as I slipped out the door and went in search of Dr. Petersen.

* * *

Dr. Petersen paced across the small lounge when Al finished speaking. "This is highly irregular, Captain Calavicci," he said. "Requesting adoption proceedings on such short notice. And what about the consent of the mother?" 

"I've talked with Mrs. Carver," Al said firmly. "Her condition is worsening from moment to moment, if I'm understanding what you and my wife have told me. She's expressed a deep concern to ensure the welfare of her child before her death. I'd like to do the best I can to help in that, and I believe that would be through adopting the baby."

"And what makes you certain you are the best person to decide what's right for Mrs. Carver's child?" Dr. Petersen asked.

"Dr. Petersen, I've lived through the state's system of looking after orphaned children. I know what it's like, and I'd like to spare this child from having to learn about it," Al answered. "As far as my being the best person, I'm not that presumptuous. That, ultimately, is up to Trinh. Before we—Beth and I—offered this option to her, I wanted to clear it with the hospital."

"Dr. Petersen," I added, "surely you realize that finding a suitable home for this child before Mrs. Carver passes away will be very difficult. We're more than willing to bring her into our family, with Trinh's consent."

Dr. Petersen paced another circuit around the lounge. It was clear he was not comfortable with the sudden twist Al and I had brought to things. He stopped and sighed. "Very well, Captain. I'll allow you to offer this option to Mrs. Carver. Should she accept, I will personally contact an adoption lawyer to arrange a private adoption. But beyond that, we're following everything to the letter." He crossed to a wall phone and dialed an extension. "Mr. Turner," he said to the hospital's lawyer, "please meet me in room 2145 in five minutes."

"Thank you, Doctor," Al said. Dr. Petersen nodded and turned to leave.

"You were wonderful, Al," I told him when we were alone.

Al gave me a small smile and caressed my shoulder. "If Trinh accepts. And if the lawyer is convinced that we're not coercing her." He looked gravely at me as a thought struck him. "Beth, is there anyone else on staff, anyone at all, who speaks Vietnamese? I doubt they'll accept my word alone. It could be viewed as a conflict of interests."

"Oh, I hadn't thought about that. We couldn't find anyone yesterday afternoon, but we only checked who was actually at work, we didn't ask about the entire hospital staff profiles. I'll call Personnel right away." I hurriedly dialed the extension and relayed my request. After several minutes, I hung up with a sigh of relief. "We must have an angel on our side. There's a young man who works in the ER who is Vietnamese. His name's Cuong Nguyen and he's here today."

"That's great, Beth." Al checked his watch. "We better get our butts in gear. The hospital lawyer's probably there already."

We hurried in to Trinh's room. Dr. Petersen was checking her vital signs as Hannah adjusted her IV. Trinh's cracked lips moved into a tiny smile as she caught sight of us.

Dr. Petersen noticed us and nodded tersely. "Nurse Calavicci, Captain. Lee Turner should be here shortly."

"Cuong Nguyen is coming, too," I told the doctor. "He's agreed to interpret for us."

"Fine, fine," Dr. Petersen nodded again. The door opened to admit Lee Turner and Cuong Nguyen. Dr. Petersen quickly filled Turner in on the situation as Cuong introduced himself to Trinh.

"She say she will speak with you," Cuong said, turning to face us again. He motioned for Al and me to move close to her bedside. "You may begin," he told Al.

Al nodded and looked at Trinh. "You told me you were worried about what would happen to your baby," he said. Cuong translated it into Vietnamese, but Trinh was already nodding.

When Cuong stopped speaking, Trinh rasped a terse answer. "She say yes, she know she soon die, leaving her daughter alone," Cuong interpreted.

"It doesn't have to be that way," Al said. "Beth and I have talked it over. If you approve, we would take your daughter into our family, make her one of our own."

Trinh began crying as Cuong translated. Her chest heaved as she answered around the pump of the respirator. "'You do this?' she ask," Cuong said. "She say you are true friends to her family and to the memory of her husband."

One of the tenderest smiles I had ever seen crossed Al's face. "Trinh, we would gladly do this, and thank you for the gift you would be giving our family as we try to do service to yours."

Cuong translated her response, "She say your service to her far greater than her gift to you." He turned to Dr. Petersen. "She ask that her baby be brought in, please."

"Of course," he answered. He slipped off to the nurses' station.

Trinh slowly closed her eyes as we waited. The lawyer walked over to Al and me. "I don't foresee any problems with this. I have a friend who specializes in family and adoption law. I'll call him and I'm sure we can have a caseworker here this afternoon," he said. He solemnly shook Al's hand and mine. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

The door opened again as Dr. Petersen returned, followed by a nurse I didn't know pushing a bassinet. A plaintive cry filled the room. Trinh's eyes painfully opened and she looked down at her daughter. The Vietnamese heritage was visible in the baby's face, though she had inherited Jim Carver's lighter brown eyes and hair. Trinh cried openly as she spoke to the infant.

Cuong quietly translated Trinh's words. "'I wish I stay with you, my darling, but I can not. I leave you with this blessing: May God grace you with beauty, honor, and intelligence. May He grant you every happiness. And grace the lives of your new mother and father with love and happiness as they watch you grow. I love you so much and I watch over you from Heaven with your father and brother.'"

I wiped at the tears racing down my cheeks with one hand and reached to grasp Al's with the other. Trinh looked at us and then again at the baby. "'She is yours,'" Cuong translated. "'A child born of love is a true blessing. Now the love in this room give her birth into your family.'" Trinh's broken lips moved into a smile again as the salty tears splashed down her damaged cheeks.

I moved next to Trinh and lightly stroked her singed hair. "Thank you so much," I whispered. Behind me, Al said, "Yes, Trinh. _Cám ơn anh. _Thank you."

Trinh's chest quivered with sobs as she nodded. "…_đứa con nuôi…"_ she coughed out. _"…con gái... của mày…"_

"_Con gái của mày_, _con gái của chúng tôi_," Al said, placing his right hand over his heart. "Your daughter. Our daughter." He kissed the tips of his fingers and extended his hand toward Trinh, but didn't touch her for fear of causing pain.

She nodded again and looked deeply into Al's eyes and then mine before resignedly closing her own. She didn't open them again, and only the tears streaming down her cheeks gave any sign that she was conscious. Al gently squeezed my shoulders as we stepped away from the bed.

With a farewell to Trinh and nods to the rest of us, Cuong left to go back to the ER. Dr. Petersen signaled for the nurse to take the baby back to the nursery and quietly told the rest of us to leave. He and Lee Turner stopped us in the hallway.

Dr. Petersen spoke first. "Beth, given the circumstances, I'm going to give you the rest of the afternoon off. You and your husband have a lot ahead of you."

"Please be in my office at 2 o'clock," Turner added. "I should have all the paperwork drawn up and we'll meet with the caseworker."

Al nodded, "We'll be there."

Turner shook both our hands again and we all dispersed. I was barely holding myself together. Al took one look at my face and immediately retraced our footsteps to the lounge we had been in earlier. Once we were inside I fell into his ready arms and wept, overcome by all that had just happened.

"Shhh," he whispered into my hair as he rubbed my back. "Shhh." He bent and kissed my cheek, wiping away the tear-tracks on my face with his thumbs. "We've been given a gift, Beth. A wonderful gift."

"I know," I nodded. "I wish it wasn't so costly."

Al sat on a vinyl couch and drew me next to him. "Trinh will go easier now. And the best way we can honor her is to raise that little baby as best as we can."

"We'll have to tell the girls tonight."

"We'll bring them here after we pick them up and let them see their new sister."

I leaned my head against Al's chest and listened to his heartbeat for awhile. The consistency of the sound calmed me. "Oh, Al, this is all happening so fast, it doesn't seem real."

Al wrapped his arm around my shoulders. "It's real, Beth. It's all real." He kissed my forehead. "We'll have to choose a name for her."

I thought back over Trinh's blessing over her daughter—our daughter. "Grace?" I suggested.

"That seems perfect. Grace it is," Al said. He checked his watch. "We've got about an hour before two. What do you say we go out for lunch? There's no point in hanging around here, is there?"

"No. But let's stop by the nursery first, and look at her again."

Al smiled and kissed me. "Of course." He took my hand as we walked to the elevator. I rested my head on his shoulder as we rode to the Maternity floor. When the car stopped I squeezed Al's hand in nervous excitement. He met my eyes and the same emotions reflected back at me.

My heart raced as we made our way to the baby viewing area. I stopped Al at the corner before the glass window and embraced him. "I love you, Al. I love you for doing this."

"And I love you, Beth." Al encircled my waist with his arms. "Let's go see Grace."

She had been released from critical care and moved into the nursery early that morning. Her bassinet was right below the window, her sleeping form swathed in pink flannel. She looked as peaceful as an angel. I clung to Al's sleeve as we watched her tiny chest rising and falling, her lips working back and forth as if she were dreaming of eating. The fact was slowly starting to sink in that she was ours now, that as soon as the paperwork was completed she would be a Calavicci. I couldn't stop the tears that slid down my cheeks for the thousandth time that day.

Al wrapped his arms around me as soon as he noticed my weeping. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"I'm fine." I returned his embrace. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"She is."

Rubbing my face and taking a deep breath, I smiled. "My head's all awhirl. I don't even know what to think."

Al grinned and nudged me playfully. "I think we're going to need a bigger car."

"And a toddler bed. Looks like Theresa's graduating to a 'big girl bed' a bit quicker than we planned."

My stomach growled and Al chuckled. "We've got a lot to talk about over lunch." With one final glance at Grace, we turned to go.

* * *

Al expertly parked the car in the crowded lot of the daycare center. We'd gotten there half an hour before closing. He idly twirled the keys on his finger before sliding them into his pocket. I met him at the hood of the car and took his hand as we walked inside to get the girls. After a grueling interview with the caseworker (complete with an inspection of our house) and the private adoption attorney Dr. Petersen had found for us, the paperwork had been completed. And not a moment too soon. Despite the hospital's best efforts, Trinh passed away half an hour after signing her daughter to our care.

We entered the brightly painted room to hear the familiar shrieks of joy as Bridget and Michele dashed toward us. "Mommy! Daddy!"

Al scooped them up, one in each arm, and distributed welcome kisses. Theresa was curled up asleep on a mat. I lifted her into my arms without waking her. She simply turned to nestle her head against my chest. The teacher in charge nodded at us as we left.

"Al, should we take them to the park first to explain everything?" I asked as he buckled Michele in the backseat; Bridget was already settled. He nodded as he came over to relieve me of Theresa. She stirred only slightly as the transition was made to her carseat, even though Bridget loudly complained that her Daddy was "smushing" her as he bent over her to settle Theresa in the middle.

Al backed the car out of the lot and we made our way to the highway. He reached over and gently squeezed my knee. I laid my hand atop his and we shared a smile. Bridget and Michele were gleefully singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" in the back seat. With a wink, Al and I joined in.

Minutes later we pulled up at a park close to the hospital. Al turned off the car and faced our daughters. "Okay, munchkins," he said, "ready to pile out?"

Together we reversed the loading process. Al carried Theresa, who had finally awoken but sleepily pushed her head against his neck. I held on to Bridget and Michele with either hand as we walked to a gazebo. We sat down on the benches, Al with Theresa in his lap, and me with Bridget and Michele on either side.

"Your daddy and I have something important to tell you," I told them. "You're all going to be big sisters."

Theresa perked up. "Big Sissy?" she asked with interest.

"That's right," said Al. "Do you girls remember Commander Carver and his wife from the picnic?"

The twins nodded. I noticed that he didn't mention Craig, who hadn't been much older than Theresa.

"Well, they had a baby yesterday, a little girl. But Commander and Mrs. Carver had to go to Heaven and she needs a mommy and daddy to take care of her, so we're going to adopt her. That means she's going to come live with us and be a part of our family."

"Will they come visit?" Bridget asked.

Al smiled sadly, "No, honey, they won't. People don't come back from Heaven."

"That's why Grace is going to be a part of our family. She's your baby sister now," I added.

"Grace?" asked Michele.

"That's her name."

"That's pretty. Where is she?"

"She's at the hospital with the other new babies. She can come home with us in just a few days."

"Would you like to see her?" Al asked them. Three small heads energetically nodded. Theresa wrapped her arms around Al's neck to be carried back to the car. Bridget begged for me to carry her, too. Michele, meanwhile, skipped merrily to the car. We shortly had all three buckled up again, and were on our way to the hospital.

I watched Al's profile during the brief trip. He truly was a wonderful father. Despite the fact that we already had three children, he was ready and willing to open his heart to another that wasn't physically ours. I thought back to our early married days. Both of us were being shuffled around so much that Al didn't think it would be fair to put children through that. I remembered how angry I had been with him when he'd signed up for the second tour in Vietnam. _"How can you leave me alone?"_ I'd shouted at him. A child would have provided some comfort for me then, and I had blamed Al for what I perceived as his selfishness. That, combined with my rage at the fact that he was willing, even eager, to go back to that hellhole, had led me to threaten to divorce him. We had argued about his feeling of commitment to his country, to the South Vietnamese, and to his fellow soldiers. I had demanded to know why he didn't feel the same commitment to me.

But Vietnam had awakened Al to the briefness of life, and to the joys of it. Because of his captivity, he savored every aspect of living. Al had always been a vibrant personality—that was part of what had attracted me to him—but it was more than that now. He had an appreciation for things that hadn't been there before Vietnam. That appreciation spread to his family and plumbed depths I wasn't sure I would ever fully understand. He valued each minute, each second spent with me and our daughters.

As I sat watching him, I realized that I, too, valued every moment with our children. I would need to take a leave to take care of Grace for the next few months, but the experience with Trinh had shown me that, for whatever reason, I had lost my ability to remain emotionally detached from my patients. Besides, I reflected, I wanted to spend every chance I could with our children, while they were still young.

Al felt my gaze and turned to look at me, smiling and blowing me a kiss. I rubbed his knee and turned to look back at the girls. Theresa had fallen asleep again and the twins looked out the window as they played their own version of "I Spy". A lump formed in my throat as I thought about how quickly they were growing. As we pulled into the hospital parking lot I decided to discuss it later with Al.

Theresa didn't stir even when Michele slammed her door on getting out. Al nestled Theresa against his shoulder when he took her out of the car, cheerfully ignoring the small line of drool collecting on his neck. He reached down for Bridget's hand as I took Michele's. Our small troop made its way past the hospital lobby to the elevators. We had just missed the last car, so I pressed the call button. Bridget hung back; her jaw dropped in horror as she saw the doors open on an empty chamber.

"Where's the people?" she cried. "There was people in there!"

"Bree, it's all right, hon," Al tried not to laugh, perceiving how upset she was. "It's like a ride, baby. People go in to ride it upstairs and then they get off. Then the car comes back down for more people. You'll see."

Bridget reluctantly followed us into the elevator. She clung tightly to Al's hand. I could see where he would have little marks from her nails. She stared suspiciously back at the closing doors when we got off on the Maternity floor.

"You have to be very quiet because the babies are sleeping," I instructed the girls as we walked toward the nursery.

"Okay, Mommy," they whispered.

Al softly nudged Theresa awake when we reached the window at the viewing area. "Resa, do you want to see your baby sister?"

Theresa rubbed her eyes. "Where?" she asked.

Al waited for the twins to climb up on the step below the window. "Right there," he pointed. Grace was the only baby who was awake. As we drew near to the glass she yawned and kicked her feet. Al draped his arm around my shoulders and smiled. I slipped an arm around his waist.

"She's pretty," Michele said. Bridget nodded in agreement.

Theresa leaned forward. "I big sissy?"

Al kissed Theresa's cheek. "You certainly are, sweetie."

Theresa smiled and yawned widely, snuggling her head against Al's neck again.

"Oops, I think we need to get this one fed and bathed and in the bed," I said. "Wave bye-bye to Grace."

The twins waved and clambered down from the step. Hand in hand they skipped back to the foyer. I gave Al a peck on the cheek.

"Everything is working out, isn't it?"

Al grinned and nodded as he took my hand, and we followed the twins to the elevator.

* * *

After dinner, I sat on the floor playing Memory with the twins while Al bathed Theresa. Their conversation constantly returned to Grace and their excitement about her entry into our family. Bridget, though, kept wondering why the Carvers had gone to Heaven and left Grace behind.

"Well, honey, I guess God needed them to be with Him," I said. How exactly did you explain death to a three-year-old? Fortunately, Bridget moved on to another question.

"Did Daddy's Mommy and Daddy go to Heaven, too?"

"Yes, baby, they did, a long time ago." Well, at least his father had. There was no way of knowing if Al's mother was still alive, and I wasn't sure he had any desire to find out.

"Then who took care of Daddy?" she demanded.

"Mommy did," answered Al, dropping next to me on the floor. He planted a kiss on my cheek. "Theresa's in bed. Can I play?"

"Uh-huh. But Sheli's winning," Bridget said.

We played for over twenty minutes. We let the twins win most of the games, but Al soundly took two rounds so the girls would feel a sense of accomplishment for beating him afterwards. When the last round ended we put the twins in for their bath. They were so busy chattering that it was easy to get through the bath quickly, especially with Al helping me. They were in bed before they realized it, and after I read three storybooks to them they were asleep. I quietly closed their door and joined Al on the couch.

"What a day," he grinned, flicking off the TV and looking up at the ceiling. He looked over at me. "Do you think Petersen will give you any problems about the leave time?"

I shook my head. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that."

Al sat up and gave me his full attention. "What is it, babe?"

"I've been thinking. Ever since I went back to work this time it's just seemed like something's been off. I couldn't figure out what it was until today. I can't remain detached anymore, Al. This thing with Trinh proved that. And it wasn't just her. It was the others—like Mrs. Kolcheck, who'll probably lose her left arm; Mr. Johnson, the whole right half of his face has third degree burns on it; and then there's the little girl who died ten minutes after I checked on her." I shook my head again, closing my eyes momentarily before looking at him again. "I won't be able to handle my job if I keep getting so emotionally involved. Plus, I keep seeing how the girls are growing. I don't want to miss out on their lives like your mother did with yours."

Al spoke very sternly, "Beth, you are nothing like my mother was. Nothing at all. Don't you ever think that! She ran out on us . . . deserted us. There's no comparison, honey. None! You're a wonderful mother."

"Well, I want to be a wonderful mother, anyway," I answered, a bit taken aback by his vehemence. "So what I wanted to talk to you about was…well. Would you be upset if I stopped working for a while to stay home with the girls full-time?"

"How could I possibly be upset with you about something like that, Beth?" Al demanded, incredulous. "While it would be nice to have, we won't be hurting for the money, if that's what you're wondering. The question is will you be happier if you stay home?"

"I honestly think so," I said. "I want to be a full-time Mom right now. At least for a few years. Maybe until Grace is in school."

"Well, then how could I have a problem with that? I want whatever makes you happy, baby, you know that."

I caressed his cheek. "Al, I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm glad I have you."

"I feel the same way," he answered. He leaned over and delivered a tenderly passionate kiss.


	21. Wednesday, July 9, 1980

**Wednesday, July 9, 1980**

Bridget, Michele, and Theresa were sprawled on the living room rug watching _Sesame Street_. I sat at the back in the ancient leather chair, feeding Grace her bottle. I leaned my head back and let out a contented sigh. I knew that one day I would want to return to my work as a nurse, but for right now, being with our children was more important to me.

A small hand touched my arm. I looked into Bridget's upturned face. "Can I help you feed Grace, Mommy?" she asked.

"Of course you can, precious." I hefted the baby onto my shoulder as Bridget clambered onto my lap. Carefully, I situated Grace on Bridget's lap and handed over the bottle. "You know how to hold the bottle for her," I said.

The girls had bonded wonderfully with their adopted sister, though they often complained that Grace was too small to play with. Theresa, too, was known to gripe that Grace got more attention than she did. In the midst of trying to make sure that she felt appreciated, it was hard to stifle the chuckles at the memories of Bridget's identical objections about Theresa at the same age.

The sound of Al's car in the driveway surprised me. He normally wasn't due home for a couple of hours. Michele and Theresa ran to the window. "It's Daddy!" they exclaimed.

Michele ran to pull the door open for her father. Al smiled at her and his eyes shone with excitement as he walked inside. His arms were laden with packages.

"Al? What is all this?"

Al grinned animatedly as he stacked the packages on the floor in front of the couch. He opened the top one and pulled out a bottle of champagne. "I got it, Beth!"

"Got it? What did you get?" I lifted Grace off Bridget's lap so my eldest could slide to the floor. Grace began to cry at all the movement. "Shhhh," I soothed as I tried to figure out what Al was talking about. I knew he had to have mentioned something about…the thought struck me just as Al spoke.

"Starbright, Beth. That new black project. They gave it to me, hon!" Al looked like a child at Christmas. "I got the spot!"

"Oh, my God! Al! That's incredible!"

Al's grin widened so much I thought his face must surely hurt. He plopped down onto the couch and chuckled as Bridget, Michele, and Theresa climbed across him. "What's in these, Daddy?" Bridget asked, pointing at the other packages.

"Hmm, let me see if I can remember," Al winked. "Well, I think there's one for each of you to open." He bent to pick up the packages and handed one to each of the girls. They tore into the small boxes.

"Daddy, what's this?" "Huh?" "What's this for?" Three confused faces looked at their father.

I walked over to see. One box contained a leash, another a dish, and the third contained cans of Cycle. He was up to something, and I was certain I knew what it was.

"Al? Did you buy a…?"

Interrupting me, Al said, "Oh, yes! I almost forgot! Be right back!" He grinned mischievously as he slipped back outside. The girls stared at the door in complete confusion. Al strode back in the house with his hands behind his back.

"The most important package of all. Here he is." He brought his hands forward. A Scottish terrier puppy with a smart red bow tied to its collar yipped and wiggled in his grasp.

The girls squealed in delight and ran forward to pet it.

"Al, what am I going to do with you?"

Al bent and put the puppy on the ground for the girls to play with. "I'll think of something," he said suggestively before he kissed me.

"I'm so proud of you, honey," I said. "A government project. I can't believe it!"

"It's going to be spectacular, honey. Space travel and communications, aerodynamics, engines…things are really going to be heading for the future!"

"So we'll be moving again, I guess. Where are the operations going to be centered, at Johnson or Canaveral?"

"Neither. It's all top secret stuff, and there's too much media attention focused there. They're transferring me to Pasadena," Al explained. "In fact, I've got to go out there next week for preliminary meetings."

"Oh, well, Pasadena won't be that big of a move, it's only, what, about six hours from here?"

"No, honey. Pasadena, California. We'll have some partnership with CalTech."

"When will we be moving then?" I started making a mental packing list, trying to gauge the necessary time frame.

He studied my expression and smiled as he recognized the particular cog-turnings I was engaged in. "In about three months or so. I'll do some house hunting while I'm out there next week."

I glanced at the Scottie puppy. "We've got to move, so you bought a dog." I shook my head and snorted. "That makes perfect sense."

"Aw, honey, I wanted to celebrate, and you know the twins have been asking for a puppy. Besides, don't you think he's cute?" He looked imploringly at me, a definite puppy-dog-ness to his brown-eyed gaze.

"We'll see how cute he is once he's housetrained," I said, but I had to admit, the girls were already smitten with the dog. "All right, but you're training him."

Al grinned and kissed me again.

"What position did you get with the project?"

"Administration. I'm gonna help run it, baby! Although, the first year or so is strictly planning and choosing staff," said Al. "Once all that is settled . . .ka-za-zoom! The sky's the limit!"

I giggled at his renewed excitement. "What a name! Starbright!"

The girls looked up from the puppy with interest. "That's his name. Star," Bridget said decidedly. They began singing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" to him. Star rolled over onto his back and waved his paws in the air.

Al grabbed the champagne bottle in one hand and took hold of mine with the other. Still holding Grace, I followed him into the kitchen, bouncing her as Al withdrew two champagne flutes from the cabinet. He popped the cork on the bottle without causing an explosion of foam, but not without startling Grace and eliciting renewed crying. He filled the glasses while I cooed and soothed her until she quieted down. Al passed me a glass and lifted his own. We clinked glasses in a celebratory gesture and sipped the bubbly drink. Al grinned and pulled me close for a long, passionate kiss before we rejoined our older daughters and the newest addition to our family.


	22. Monday, October 27, 1980

**Monday, October 27, 1980 **

"That's the last of it, I think," said Al.

He went out to the moving truck to double check and to sign the papers as the movers set the boxes labeled "KITCHEN" on the kitchen floor. They tipped their ballcaps at me as they walked outside. I surveyed the array of boxes, furniture, and crates and shook my head.

"Grace, how are we going to make sense of all this?" I asked, turning to our eight-month-old. We'd set up her swing in the relative out-of-the-way opening to the pantry and as long as we kept it wound and moving she was content. She bubbled and cooed, clapping her hands at the attention.

I looked in the backyard to check on the other three girls. They were sitting in the grass playing a game of catch. Two-year-old Theresa's tosses occasionally made it to one of her older sisters, and they considerately rolled the ball to her instead of throwing it whenever it was her turn to receive. Occasionally Star would run into the game and knock the ball out of play, barking mischievously as he dashed off.

"DaDa!" Grace giggled, smacking the tray of her swing. "DaDa!"

"Hey there, munchkin," smiled Al, squatting down in front of her. "How's Daddy's girl? How's my Gracie? Does she like the new house?"

"Ah ba ba ma ba," babbled Grace.

"There you go, Beth," said Al as he turned to me. "She said 'Ma' that time. She'll get it soon."

I joined him in front of Grace's swing and prompted her, "C'mon, Grace. You can say it. I know you can. MaMa. MaMa."

"Ahhhhhhhh ma, ma ba ba," she said, looking intently at me. Then she giggled and looked at Al. "DaDa!"

He beamed and chuckled heartily.

"One of them had to say 'Daddy' first, I guess." I chuckled and patted him on the shoulder as I stood. "Of course, you don't have to enjoy it quite so much."

"Am I enjoying it too much?" said Al, standing and taking me around the waist. "I seem to remember someone enjoying the twins only saying 'MaMa' for a month straight." He grinned and mimicked me, "'Listen, Al…it's in stereo!'"

"Aw, poor baby, did I mock you much?" I ruffled his hair and kissed him. "I'm sorry, you're right. I'll let you have your moment."

"I don't know," he said, nudging me closer to him, "I'm kind of enjoying this moment right here." He captured my mouth and kissed me for a long time.

We broke apart and I leaned my head against his shoulder as I looked at the sea of boxes which started in the kitchen and continued in clumps throughout the rest of the house. It was overwhelming, particularly as the movers had only grouped them according to which room in the house matched the label. We still had to decipher what was in which box, as well as where the furniture should be laid out.

"I don't even know where to start," I said.

Grace's swing had stopped and she started fussing. Al grinned and stepped over to wind the crank again, setting it into another 10 minute cycle.

"DaDa!" she cooed and applauded.

"Let's get the girls' bedrooms set up first," he decided after thinking about it. "We can order food for tonight or go out to eat."

"If their bedrooms look anything like this kitchen…"

"We'll get it done, honey. Are the girls still okay out there?" He looked out the window.

"I think we can still see them from upstairs," I commented. "Although I'd feel better if they were inside, they'll just be underfoot."

Al moved to the side door and stepped onto the patio. He called out to the girls, "Bree, Sheli! Keep an eye on Theresa. Mommy and I are going to be right upstairs. You stay in the backyard, okay?"

The twins nodded. "Okay, Daddy!" they confirmed.

"In the backyard or in the house," he emphasized. "Nowhere else."

"Okay, Daddy!" they said again.

He came inside and turned to me as I suggested, "Let's do the twins' room first. Then they can have that area to play in when we're done."

"Sounds good to me."

I lifted Grace into my arms and nodded at Al. Understanding, he began disassembling the baby swing so we could bring it upstairs.

"Ahma da bababa."

Quietly I tried prompting her again as we walked upstairs, "MaMa, Grace. MaMa. I know you can say it."

"DaDa!"

"Beth," Al called from the bottom of the stairs, "can you turn the lights on, please? I can hardly see the steps."

I looked down from the landing. Laden down with the legs and seat of the swing, he didn't have a hand free to flip the switch near him. I found the switchplate at the top of the stairs and flicked it on.

Nothing happened.

"Beth!"

"I'm trying, honey." I flicked it in the opposite direction. Still nothing. I tried it again—up, down, up, down, up. "Al, I think the bulb must be burned out, baby."

"Great. Just what we need, another project," he muttered as he started up the dark stairway. The legs of the swing banged against the wall as he felt his way to the top.

He headed to the end of the hall and set Grace's swing up in front of the linen closet. Within minutes he had it ready to go, and I settled her in the swing as he wound the crank. Grace kicked her legs excitedly as she began moving back and forth in the regular rhythm.

"DaDa!" she enthused.

"Daddy's got to go in your sisters' room," he told her. "You just enjoy your swing and we'll be back to give you a wind when it runs out okay?"

"Ba ba ma ah, ahma."

"Right." He smiled and followed me into Bridget and Michele's room. "Oh boy."

The frames of their twin beds were stacked against the wall and the movers had piled the boxes in the center of the room. The mattresses were leaning against the permanent low bookshelves that had been a high selling point to us. I walked to the window and yanked the blinds up so we could see the girls easily. Daylight streamed into the room, and I looked down to make sure they were still playing in the backyard.

"Baby, let's get these boxes out of the way," grunted Al, as he hefted the first box from the stack and carried it to the open closet.

I couldn't lift any of them, but I pushed and shoved the next box beside it. By the time I finished, Al was already carrying a third box over. I helped him move the last one. With the floor cleared, we now stood in the middle of the room.

"Let's orient their beds this way," I said, gesturing to indicate that I wanted the beds to face the wide window.

We collected the necessary parts for the first bed and began assembling it. We'd barely begun when Grace's swing ran down and she started crying. Since I was closer to the door, I jumped up and hurried to start the cycle over again. After she started into motion again, Grace laughed.

"Badaba Ahma."

"You're getting closer, sweetie-pie," I laughed as I headed back into the twins' room.

Al was trying to hold the frame pieces in place and screw it together at the same time. He swore as the opposite side slat fell to the floor.

"Al, love, you should've waited for me!" I exclaimed, dropping to my knees to help him. I held the pieces for him while he tightened the nuts and bolts. After testing its sturdiness we dropped the boxspring and mattress into place. I immediately went to the window again and looked down at our three daughters. They were playing Leapfrog now.

"One down, one to go," Al said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He tested the latch on the window and opened it. "We can enjoy the breeze and hear the girls better."

"Thanks, love." I kissed his cheek.

He smiled and kissed me back, then nodded at the remaining bed. "We're not done in here yet."

As we carried the frame to the proper spot, I said, "The quicker we get this room done the quicker they can come back inside."

"You'll feel better once they're in the house won't you?"

"Won't you?"

Al looked up from the bolt he was tightening and grinned. "Yeah."

"DaDa!" wailed Grace.

"Someone should invent a swing with a longer cycle," muttered Al as he got to his feet. "Can you hold it by yourself for a sec, hon?"

"I've got it," I assured him. I smiled as I heard his tone instantly change as soon as he got near to Grace.

"Did Daddy's little angel stop swinging? Should Daddy wind it up again?"

"DaDa," she answered.

I heard the ratcheting cranking noise as he wound the swing. "Maybe you're getting sleepy, honey?" Al asked hopefully.

A stream of babbling answered him. He started laughing and was still chuckling when he came back into the room and started screwing the second bed together. Intent on the task, we finished in short order and soon had the mattresses in place.

I moved toward the closet to begin unpacking boxes, but Al shook his head.

"Beds first," he said. "Let's do Theresa's next."

I would rather have gotten the twins' room completely set up, but I acknowledged the sense of getting all four of their beds ready first. If nothing else, we could get the girls comfortably to sleep tonight. I agreed, but insisted that as soon as we had Grace's crib set up, I was getting the twins' room livable so the girls could come back inside.

"Fair enough," conceded Al as he started the process of moving the boxes from the center of the room to the closet again. Having found our rhythm, sort of, after setting up the twins' beds, it didn't take us long to get Theresa's bed assembled and the mattresses installed. I was able to wind Grace's swing for the next cycle before the first one came to an end.

The crib took quite a bit longer to assemble and we more than once questioned ourselves as to why we'd taken it apart in the first place. A couple of times Al pinched his finger and it was only the knowledge that Grace was right outside the door that kept him from swearing loudly, instead he muttered under his breath. Grace's swing ran down again but the crib wasn't in any condition so that either of us could abandon its assembly long enough to start her up again. Her wails became more demanding and Al pinched his finger again as we tried to hurry.

By the time we finished, Grace was inconsolable. Even the resumption of the swing's motion couldn't calm her down. She screamed, her face turning beet red, and Al and I both worried she'd pass out from lack of oxygen. I bent to lift her from the swing and we tried soothing her, but no matter what we did, she just kept crying. Finally, we decided that Al would take her outside for some fresh air while I started unpacking in the twins' room. I passed her off to him and listened to the volume of her cries diminish as Al walked downstairs with her. I began unpacking boxes and couldn't help but laugh when I heard her through the window, crying as loud as ever as Al joined the girls outside.

* * *

As the afternoon wore on, the sunlight streaming into the girls' windows lessened and it became harder to see. The three older girls were in the twins' room playing Candyland. We'd found Grace's play pen and set it up in there as well. Although the bookshelves hadn't been filled yet, the majority of the boxes had been unpacked and Bridget and Michele's room was close enough to being finished that we'd moved on to getting Theresa's room set up. While I began filling her toy chest, Al dragged her dresser into place.

"I think we could use some light in here," he said when he finished moving the furniture. He went to the lightswitch and flicked it. Nothing.

"Another burned out bulb?" I sighed, looking up at the light fixture.

"Could be," said Al, "but I'm not so sure now." He crossed the hall to the bathroom and I heard him flipping the switch on and off several times. "Damn!"

"What is it, baby?"

He looked disgusted when he came back into Theresa's room. "The power's not on."

"What? But we called them! We told them we were moving in today!"

"I'll just call them again and _remind_ them." He went downstairs, and I heard him ripping into boxes. After a moment he yelled, "Beth? Which box did we pack the phone in again?"

I pressed a hand to my eyes as I thought. "Try one of the ones in the den," I shouted back.

He crowed triumphantly when he found the phone. I finished emptying the box of toys into Theresa's toy chest and turned to unpack her clothes. We'd packed their clothes without taking them off the hangers so all I had to do was reach into the box and hang them up. I'd gotten two handfuls of clothes in her closet when I heard Al slam the phone down.

"I don't **_believe_** this!" A banging noise sounded and was followed by several loud thuds.

"Al?" I scrambled to my feet and dashed downstairs. "Al? What's wrong?"

I ran into the kitchen, half-expecting to see him unconscious on the floor under a pile of boxes. Instead, he was standing with his back to me, gripping the counter. He was breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth, plainly trying to calm himself down. I walked up to him and hesitantly touched his shoulder.

"No phone," he ground out. "The phone company hasn't turned the phone on either!"

"This is a nightmare," I muttered, steepling my fingers over my face.

"No," Al said, turning to face me, "the nightmare's going to be trying to get Michele to go to bed without a nightlight."

"Well what are we going to do?"

He took a deep breath. "I guess I'm going to go introduce myself to our neighbors and see if I can use their phone."

* * *

"I don't like that house," said Bridget as we pulled back into the driveway.

We'd gone out to dinner before the sun went down. Though we'd had hopes of getting back before it was dark, things took longer than expected at the restaurant. Now it was drawing close to the girls' bedtime, and neither of us was looking forward to bringing them back into the dark house. Though the power company had apologized profusely, they swore they couldn't activate our electricity until the following morning. Fortunately, Al had had better luck with the phone company, but we both would've preferred to have electricity and no phone. Honestly, the only good thing to come out of it was that Al had befriended Eileen and Todd Phelps, who lived in the house to the left of ours, when he'd made use of their phone.

Al and I exchanged a look at Bridget's words. We were ready for Michele, even Theresa, to demonstrate fear upon seeing the dark windows. Not Bridget.

"What's the matter, Bree, don't you like our new house?" Al asked easily.

"I don't like _that_ house," she repeated, now pointing at the house next door on the right.

"It's a scary house," piped up Michele.

We looked. The Halloween decorations that had appeared whimsical to us during the day were spooky enough to set even our nerves on edge now that they were illuminated by the special lights the neighbors had rigged. We could only imagine how they appeared to our young daughters.

"I don't wanna get out the car," Michele now whined.

"They're just decorations, Sheli, they can't hurt you," I said.

"No, I'm scared!"

Bridget added, "I don't like it, either."

Theresa began looking apprehensively around, as if wondering if she should be scared as well.

"Look, Daddy and I are going to get out of the car, and you'll see it's all okay."

"Nooo!" Michele screamed as we stepped outside and she looked frantically to the right, convinced that the skeletons, vampires, mummies, and Frankensteins were all simultaneously going to come to life and grab us.

Al opened the back door of the station wagon. "See? It's okay, honey."

Bridget and Theresa reluctantly got out, heading straight for the porch, where they stood holding each other's hand. Michele shook her head stubbornly and refused to budge from the backseat.

I opened the door on my side and got Grace out of her carseat. As soon as Michele saw that the door near the "scary house" was open she started shrieking again and burst into tears. Bouncing Grace in my arms, I looked helplessly to Al as I closed the car door again. Michele stared forlornly at us, looking away from the neighbor's house and back again—afraid to look at it and yet afraid to look away for fear that the ghoulies would get her.

Al bent in the still open door on his side. "Sheli? Honey? What about if I hold you, baby? Would that be okay?"

She considered for a moment, then slowly nodded and scooted across the seat until she was near him. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck. Al took her into his arms and lifted her out of the car.

"That's my girl. Daddy's got you, sweetheart, everything's okay."

Michele buried her face in his neck and didn't look up until we were inside. Of course, as soon as she lifted her head to see the darkness she screamed again.

"Shhh, I've got you, Michele. Everything's fine."

"Dark!"

"Beth, get the flashlights, honey. I put them on that box over there."

I found them and switched them all on. I handed one to Bridget and Theresa to share, kept one for myself, and handed the last one to Al. He passed it to Michele.

"There you go, baby. Does that help?"

Sniffling, she nodded.

"Let's go upstairs then and get in our jammies, okay?"

"No!" Michele shook her head emphatically.

I aimed my flashlight at the staircase to illuminate it and tried to help. "Look, honey, it's just the stairs."

"No, no, no!"

"What about if Grace and I go up first? If you see it's safe will you come up with Daddy?"

Michele looked at Al and he smiled encouragingly at her. "O-o-okay," she said.

"Bridget, you and Theresa follow me, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy. Come on, Resa." Bridget took hold of her younger sister's hand and took a deep breath as they followed me up the dark stairs.

When we reached the top I shone my flashlight down the steps and called out, "It's okay, Sheli."

Though she whimpered, she allowed Al to bring her upstairs.

"That's Daddy's brave girl," he praised her, kissing her on the cheek.

"I want the lights," Michele insisted.

"They'll be on tomorrow," I promised her. "Now it's bedtime, so let Daddy help you go potty and get ready for bed while I put Grace down."

Grace was already asleep in my arms, but I didn't want her sleeping in the turtleneck and corduroy jumper she had on. I took the chance of waking her as I balanced the flashlight on the edge of the changing table and then set her down as well to swap her playclothes for the onesie sleeper. Fate was smiling on me as she stayed asleep even while I changed her diaper. Lifting her into my arms, I brushed kisses across her cheeks before settling her into the crib. We hadn't finished her room, but had made sure to get the changing table set up and the crib set with bumpers arranged before leaving for dinner. I draped the sheet over her and watched her sleep for a few minutes before taking the flashlight and returning to the twins' room.

Theresa sat on the floor watching as Al helped Michele into her pajamas. Bridget stood nearby in her panties, waiting for help with hers.

"Come here, Bree, I'll help you with your jammies."

She started to, but looked again at Michele. Bridget shook her head and pouted. "No, I want Daddy to."

Al finished with Michele and playfully swatted her tushie. "All right, baby, climb into your bed." He handed her the flashlight and then beckoned for Bridget. "Bring me your jammies, sweetie."

"Resa, let's go get ready for bed," I told her, extending my hand towards her. She got to her feet and took hold, walking with me into her room.

"It dark, Mommy."

"Yes, it is. That means it's sleepytime." I found her pajamas and brought them back with me. I knelt and helped her get undressed then put her pajamas on her. "Are you ready for sleepytime, baby?"

"Read me, Mommy?"

"We haven't unpacked the books yet, baby, but I tell you what. How about if I tell you a story?"

"Okay," she smiled.

I shined the flashlight's beam at her bed. "Climb in so I can tuck you in."

Theresa scrambled to comply, sitting up against her pillow and smiling as she waited for me to join her. I pulled her sheets up around her and sat next to her, reaching my arm for her to snuggle against me. After a moment's thought, I told her the story of Cinderella. She yawned when I finished and didn't fight as I eased her down to the bed and tucked her in. I kissed her and whispered a good night.

Taking the flashlight with me, I headed downstairs and began a search for the candles. I found them in the fourth box I checked and I took all of them, using the bottom of my shirt as a makeshift pouch. I saw the brightness of Al's light sweeping the hallway as I came back upstairs.

"They're asleep?" I whispered.

"Bridget is. Sheli's fighting it, but I left the flashlight with her," he whispered back. He looked at the bulge in my shirt. "What've you got there?"

"Candles. I want to clean the bathrooms and I can't do that with the flashlight in my hands."

"Give me some and I'll help you."

"I'll get them set up. If you could find the cleaning stuff that would be a big help, honey."

Al nodded and went downstairs with the flashlight to search it out. I divvied up the candles and left two-thirds of them in our room while I took the rest of them, one pillar and a few votives, into the upstairs bathroom with me. I'd just finished lighting them and had extinguished the flashlight when Al knocked softly on the open bathroom door.

"Here you go, angel," he said as he handed me a small basket of cleaning products. He held on to a bucket filled with comparable things. "I'll clean the master bathroom."

"Are you sure, Al? That's a bigger job than this one."

"I'm sure." He grinned impishly. "Besides, you can help me finish once you're done in here."

I snorted lightly and turned to begin cleaning the toilet, figuring to do the most distasteful task first. The previous owners had kept a good house, so it didn't require much cleaning, but I just felt better handling it myself. As soon as I finished with the toilet, I tackled the bathtub, and then the sink and mirror. The floor could keep, I decided, and I blew out the candles before walking out. I left them there to cool, worried that I'd spill hot wax on the floor or myself if I tried taking them with me. Instead, I used the flashlight to navigate.

On my way to the master bedroom, I stopped to check on the girls. Grace hadn't budged and she still slept sweetly and soundly. Theresa slept easily as well. Before going into the twins' room I took a deep breath, which I let out upon seeing Michele as sound asleep as her sister. She still clutched the flashlight; I didn't remove it from her grasp but I did switch it off. Without making a sound, I returned to the hallway and retraced my steps to the master suite.

I heard water running and I wondered if Al had decided to mop the floor. Surprised that he hadn't left any lit candles in the bedroom, I followed the soft glow to the bathroom. Al turned to me from his perch on the side of the sunken tub where he was adjusting the flow of water as it filled the tub and created…a sea of foam bubbles?

"I finished cleaning and thought I'd give you a surprise," he said, gesturing around the bathroom.

Every surface sparkled. Al had clustered the candles along the vanity as well as the windowsill just above the bathtub.

"It looks great in here," I said approvingly.

He turned off the water and gestured at the tub. "First bath's all yours, honey."

* * *

I finished pinning my hair up and turned to step into the tub. The hot water felt great as I eased down into it.

"Ahh," I murmured, leaning back against my husband and grinning as the bubbles surrounded us.

Smiling, Al inclined his head to kiss my cheek. "Sharing was a better idea."

I tilted my head back so I could see him. "Yeah, I'm glad I thought of it." I smirked and winked as he laughed and then tenderly kissed my lips.

"You look great by candlelight," he said. He lifted a wet hand to finger a tendril of hair dangling by my ear.

I closed my eyes and relaxed against him, my breathing pattern soon matching his as the rise and fall of his chest lifted and lowered me. He pressed his cheek against mine and sought out my hand through the bubbles. I grasped his fingers and brought his hand around my waist, turning my head so that I could kiss him again.

"You're such a thoughtful husband," I told him, touching his cheek. A moment later I giggled at the clump of foam that remained.

Al dipped his hand into the bathwater and then wiped his face, spitting slightly as a bit of soap went into his mouth. I giggled again.

"Here, sit up for a minute," he said.

"Oh, no," I said, stifling my laughter, "I'm sorry, honey."

He kissed my cheek. "No, I mean let me wash your back." He lifted a sponge from the side of the tub.

"Aww, aren't you the sweetest?" I kissed him before sitting up.

He squeezed the warm water over my back. As soon as my skin was clear of stray bubbles he leaned forward and kissed the bony knot at the top of my spine. His hands stroked my trapezius muscles as he kissed along the base of my neck to the hollow below my hairline. After a moment, he pulled back and began washing me. I dropped my head forward and relaxed as he soaped my back and then used the sponge to waterfall the suds away.

I turned slightly to look over my shoulder at him. "That felt great. Thanks."

He smiled and bent forward to kiss me. We took turns with the soap and after a while I turned in the thick bubbles to face him. He paused in scrubbing his chest to kiss me again. I smiled and then directed him to turn around as well.

Al raised an eyebrow.

"You deserve a back washing too, honey. You've even earned a back rub today."

He grinned and kissed me before complying. As soon as he turned his back to me, I had to bite my lip and blink away tears. After five years, I thought I was used to seeing his scars, but I still felt a cold rush shudder through me every time. The ragged lines that crisscrossed his back pained me, especially now that the hot water had brought a flush to them, deepening them from the pale pinkish-white they normally were to a ruddy color that made them seem almost fresh. I ran my hands across his back and used my index finger to trace one that traversed his shoulder blades. Al stiffened ever so slightly and twisted his head to look at me.

I didn't speak, just leaned forward and kissed the length of the scar I'd just touched. When I reached the other end of it, I pressed my forehead against his back and wrapped my arms around him. Al sighed; he knew what I was thinking, but he didn't say anything, just reached up to squeeze my hands where they rested against his chest. After a moment, he lifted my left hand to his lips and kissed it just below my wedding ring.

I cleared my throat and took a deep breath, then reached for the sponge. I began washing his back, tenderly stroking it as I soaped him. Wanting to soothe his tired muscles for all the work he'd done today, wanting to make up for the very existence of the scars. Rinsing him off, I began the promised back rub.

"We'll get the rest of the house done tomorrow," he commented as I started kneading the tight muscles around his neck.

"It'll be easier once the power's on," I agreed, pressing my fingers along his spine. "We won't have to stop as soon as the sun goes down."

"And Sheli can have her nightlight again," chuckled Al.

"Although," I said as I massaged his back, "I do have to say that this has been a nice perk to the lack of power."

Al reached to still my hands and turned to face me. He gave me a broad smile and leaned to kiss me. "It has indeed," he agreed.


	23. Saturday, November 15, 1980

**Saturday, November 15, 1980**

"Are you sure you don't need anything, Beth? I don't mind. I'm telling you, Todd's got quite the list of things he wants for Thanksgiving dinner, so it's no trouble at all."

I smiled at Eileen's insistence as I opened the pantry and stepped inside it. Glancing up and down at the shelves, I said, "Well, now that you mention Thanksgiving, I could use a couple of cans of yams, I suppose."

"Yams," Eileen said as she added it to her list then eyed me. "Anything else?"

"Cranberry sauce."

Grace crawled into the pantry, investigating what we were up to. When she reached my feet she touched my ankle and burbled, "AhMa."

"Hey, darlin'!" exclaimed Eileen, bending to pick eight-month-old Grace up. "Aren't you just the most adorable baby ever?"

"'Een," smiled Grace and touched Eileen's cheek. "Hababa wawama 'Een." Then she looked at me again and stretched her arms, leaning out of Eileen's hold. "AhMa."

"Here, come to Mommy," I said as I took her.

"Wawama AhMa." Grace grabbed my neck and bounced her lips against mine in her baby approximation of a kiss.

"Still hasn't mastered that first 'm' yet, huh?" grinned Eileen.

"To Al's insufferable delight."

Eileen laughed merrily and tweaked Grace's chubby leg. "You're a pepper, Gracie, do you know that?"

"That reminds me, I guess I could do with some black pepper. And I do need some baby food for Grace."

"Just tell me the kinds," Eileen said, her pen poised over her list. She jotted down each flavor as I named it.

I did quick mental tally and then went to my purse on the kitchen counter to withdraw enough cash to cover my groceries. Eileen tucked it into her pocket along with the list.

"Thanks, Eileen. I really appreciate it."

"No problem, Beth." She grinned and waved at Grace. "Bye, Gracie."

"Tell Eileen 'Bye-Bye'," I directed, starting Grace's hand in a wave, which she quickly finished on her own.

We walked Eileen to the front door. After she crossed back to her own yard, I closed the door and headed back for the kitchen. Three girls tore past me, almost making me trip, and I let out a reflexive shriek as I tightened my hold on Grace. I must have pinched Grace's leg with my watchband, because she let out a banshee-like cry and started wailing.

Al hurried in after our dual shrieks and skidded to a halt. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

"Nothing," I assured him. "I just got startled, that's all. The twins and Tiffany came racing through."

Grace twisted in my arms and reached for Al, whining, "DaDa! DaDa!"

"Why's this one crying?" he asked as he took her, gently bouncing her in his arms.

I extended my arm to show him the elastic metal watchband. "I think I pinched her leg."

"Aw, poor Gracie," soothed Al as he massaged her thighs. He kissed her on the cheek and her crying gradually slowed. "Wanna come watch football with Daddy?"

"Fu ba DaDa."

He chuckled. "Close enough." He walked into the living room and I heard him call out, "Hey, slow it down!" Moments later, Bridget, Michele, and their friend Tiffany scurried past me to run upstairs. I shook my head and returned to the kitchen to finish cleaning it up.

I was just making a final swipe on the counter with the sponge when Theresa came in, sniffling and rubbing her nose against her sleeve.

"Honey, don't do that!" I exclaimed, and took hold of her arm, simultaneously handing her a Kleenex from the box on the windowsill.

She sullenly wiped her nose with the tissue and began to cry again.

"Come here, Resa," I said as I bent to pick her up. "What's the matter, baby?"

"They not play wif me."

"Who won't?"

"Bree and Sheli. I wanna play Barbies too. They not play wif me!"

I carried her to the table in the breakfast nook and sat down, hugging her close. "Bree and Sheli have company over," I explained. "Tiffany is their age and they're playing with her right now."

"I wanna play too! And Tiff-er-nee told 'em to close the door!"

"Oh, she did?" I cast a look up at the ceiling. This was the first time we'd had their new friend Tiffany over for a playdate, and so far the child was getting on my nerves.

Theresa's tears swelled and she sobbed, "No one play wif me!"

After a moment's frantic thought, I suggested, "Tell you what? Why don't you put a sweater on and you can go play catch with Star in the backyard."

"Just me?" She looked dubious.

"Sure." I leaned back to part the curtains and tried to convince her. "Star looks lonely. I think he'd be happy to play with just you."

Theresa got up and peered out the window. Star was sitting and scratching his ear and I crossed my fingers that Theresa would accept my interpretation of his actions. Fortunately, he caught sight of her and dashed over, rising to his hind legs and resting his paws on the brick below the window.

"See?"

She turned and beamed at me. "Okay, I play!"

"Come on then, baby girl, let's wash your face and then get a sweater on."

I held another tissue for her and directed her to blow, then dampened a dishcloth and wiped her face down. Once those ministrations were done, we walked to the hall closet and I took her small sweater off its hanger and helped her into it. As soon as we got it buttoned, she grinned and ran outside, calling, "Star! I here to play wif you!"

Smiling, I watched her from the kitchen window for a few moments and then headed into the living room. Al was relaxing in the recliner holding Grace, who had fallen asleep on his chest. His attention was on the game, but he looked up and grinned as I came in.

"Do you want me to take her?" I asked.

"No, she's fine," he said, stroking her back.

I smiled and sat on the couch. I picked up a magazine and began flipping through it, glancing at the screen when Al would let out a soft cheer or groan, depending upon how the action went. After a major mistake by the college team he was rooting for, Al growled a loud, "I don't believe that!" and then followed it with a quick, "Uh oh."

Grace whimpered and shifted on his chest, lifting her head and squinching her face. Al had been looking down at her and started laughing at the sight of her crumpled expression. She glared at him through half-closed eyes and deliberately thumped herself back down against his chest. She fussily shifted her head back and forth and then pressed her fist against her lips and began sucking her knuckles until she fell asleep again.

"I guess she told you!" I chuckled as Al and I exchanged amused looks. "Are you sure you don't want me to take her? You know you're only going to wake her up again."

"Yeah, if they keep playing this way," he snorted in agreement. He lightly fondled her cheeks then moved his arms out of the way as I lifted her off of him, tucking her close to me before taking my seat on the couch. As I sat, Grace shifted toward me and snuggled in.

The heavy thump of running footsteps sounded overhead, followed by the girls thudding their way down the stairs. They ran through the foyer to the kitchen, and Al yelled over their noise, "Quit running in the house, girls!"

They didn't slow down, and a slamming of the side door leading to the patio and the backyard beyond was their final response. Al rolled his eyes and looked over at me.

"They don't run in the house like this all the time, do they?"

"Of course not!" I lowered my voice at the last instant when Grace moaned in her sleep. "They're showing off for Tiffany."

"Or copying her."

There was that, it couldn't be denied. The more I thought about it the more I agreed with him. Especially when Theresa dashed inside, once more in tears. At the sound of her running footsteps, Al assumed it was the twins and Tiffany, and he didn't hide the annoyance in his tone when he hollered, "I said quit running!"

Theresa stopped at the threshold of the room and her eyes widened. Moments later her lower lip increased its trembling and she dropped to sit huddled against the woodwork, burying her face in her knees as her tears intensified into full blown sobs. Al turned in his chair and his face fell when he saw her. One swift yank of the lever had the chair back to its upright position and he jumped out of it.

Al knelt before Theresa and cupped his hand over the crown of her head. "Oh, Resa, honey, I didn't know it was you. I thought it was the twins and their friend running in the house again." He looked over at me, regret in his eyes.

I got up and carried Grace to the playpen in the corner, easing her down and then coming to join him beside Theresa. "I thought you were playing with Star," I said. "What happened?"

She lifted her head and looked from me to Al and back again. "Tiff-er-nee tooked the ball away and her said I too little to play wif Star! Her … her …" Whatever Tiffany had done was more than Theresa could take or express and she was overwhelmed by her sobs.

Al scooped Theresa into his arms and kissed her forehead. "All right, baby, it's all right."

"No," insisted Theresa. "They no play wif me! Tiff-er-nee said I too little to play wif!"

"Why do you want to play with that little brat anyway?" Al said, not quite under his breath.

"Albert!"

"Well, honestly, Beth. She's been a little tyrant all afternoon. 'I don't eat crusts on my bread.' 'At MY house we eat in the living room.' 'MY Mommy lets me' do apparently whatever the hell she wants!"

"She's only four years old."

"And spoiled rotten."

Theresa interrupted us as she complained, "I want play wif Bree and Sheli! I too little!"

"You're not too little, Theresa. You go tell the twins that I said you're all to play together," declared Al. He kissed her cheeks again and tucked her long hair behind her ears.

I shook my head. "That's not going to work, Al. They're not going to listen to her."

"Fine," he said. Easing Theresa off his lap, Al got to his feet and took her by the hand. "I'll tell them myself. Come on, Theresa."

She hung back and shook her head. "No, Daddy. I don't want play with Tiff-er-nee!"

Al let out a sigh so I stepped in. "What _do_ you want, Resa?"

Frustrated, she started crying again. "I want Tiff-er-nee go home!"

"That makes two of us," Al muttered.

_Three of us_, I thought but didn't dare give voice to it. The last thing I needed to do right now was egg Al on. Instead, I picked Theresa up and hugged her.

"Shhh, stop crying, honey," I said, kissing her. "It's going to be okay."

"Tiff-er-nee not nice! I want her go home!"

"She will. Her mommy's coming to get her later on." I brushed another kiss on her forehead, and then gently admonished, "I know you're upset, honey, but Tiffany's company."

Theresa stuck her lower lip out and looked to Al for support. He was ready to give it. Giving me a dirty look, he said, "Since you're not going to do anything, I'm going to go have a talk with those girls." He turned and purposefully strode through the kitchen to the side door, glanced back once to see if I was going to stop him, and then headed outside.

I stifled an exasperated sigh and tried once again to soothe Theresa's hurt feelings. "How would you like some ice cream?"

She looked surprised by the offer then nodded emphatically, the first hint of a smile appearing on her face. I carried her into the kitchen and got her settled at the breakfast table while I fixed her a small bowl of vanilla ice cream. She accepted my offer of chocolate syrup, and while I squeezed the Hershey's syrup onto the scoops, I glanced out the window to see Al talking with the girls. He looked firm, but his face wasn't angry, though he did gesture widely as he spoke.

Shaking my head, I turned away and brought the ice cream to Theresa. Before I set it in front of her I told her she couldn't have it until I saw a smile. She wiped her eyes and gave me a grin, which expanded when I placed the dish on the table.

"Thank you, Mommy!" she enthused before digging in.

"Slow down or you'll get an ice cream headache," I cautioned her with a laugh.

I was about to turn to look out the window again when Al came inside. He went straight to Theresa and ruffled her hair, smiling to see her looking happy again.

"That's my munchkin," said Al. "You've got some chocolate on your face, baby." He picked up a napkin and dabbed it away.

"Want ice cream, Daddy?" she happily asked him, sliding her bowl toward him.

"Oh, no, honey, thank you." He looked up at me and picked up on the vestiges of my annoyance at the comment he'd made before going outside to talk to the girls. He led the way to the other side of the kitchen so we could talk out of Theresa's hearing.

I raised my eyebrows at him and lifted my chin as I frigidly asked, "How did your little chat go?"

Al rolled his eyes and shook his head. "The twins defended Tiffany and all three protested that she," he indicated Theresa, "was bugging them. Since they went outside and ran her off, I told them that wasn't going to fly."

"And? What did you accomplish?"

"Well I couldn't get them to agree to play," he sheepishly admitted, "but I did get them to agree to quit picking on her."

I couldn't resist the dig. "Not so easy is it, hot shot?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. "That's what they'd do to us when we were kids. Give us a lecture and make us get along."

"Us meaning you and Trudy?" I was trying to make a point but I wanted to be gentle in how I did it. "Or us meaning the other boys in the orphanage?"

"You know I meant the other boys!" Al's irritation built and I felt a twinge of guilt at mentioning Trudy.

"And that's my point exactly, honey. It was _boys_. Girls are different. Besides, just how effective was their attempt at making all of you get along?"

"Well, we knew we'd get a licking if we didn't." He stopped.

"Mm-hmm?" I nodded. "And what about if you got into a fight? Everything was fine afterwards, right? It's not like that with girls, honey. They pair off and they hold grudges. To be honest, I'm surprised she and the twins have been getting along so well today. Anyway, things are bad enough with her bossy ways. I don't want something to start with her and Theresa if she comes over again."

"She won't be coming over again," Al said firmly. "And, all right, I see what you're driving at. You were right."

I smiled and lovingly patted his cheek. "But I will give you marks for getting them to quit picking on Resa."

Star suddenly let out a yelp so loud we heard it inside. We both hurried to the window to see the dog running away from the girls, whimpering incessantly until he reached his doghouse. He darted inside and didn't come back out. Just as we were about to go outside to investigate, the three girls came into the kitchen.

"What happened to Star?" Al and I asked simultaneously.

Tiffany answered, "He doesn't catch good."

"What do you mean?" Al asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

The slim, blonde haired girl shrugged and looked innocently at him through her pink plastic frame glasses. "I threw the ball at him and he didn't catch it."

"Michele," Al said, now turning to the most honest of our children, "why did Star yelp?"

"The ball hit him on the head, Daddy."

"How hard did you throw that ball?" he demanded of Tiffany, an edge to his voice.

"I dunno, Mr. Calavicci."

"Yeah, I'm sure," he muttered.

"Can we have some ice cream, too?" Bridget asked, noticing Theresa's snack.

Before I could answer, Al said, irritated, "No. Only Theresa."

The girls pouted and I was about to override him, but a glance from him silenced me. I blew out a harsh exhale through my nostrils to signal my annoyance and disapproval, but held my peace.

Tiffany seemed to sense the dissension between us, because she instantly turned to me and wheedled, "But, Mrs. Calavicci, why can't we have ice cream, too?"

Al's lips tightened and his brows lowered. The twins knew better than to continue whining for something they wanted when he got that look, but Tiffany either didn't recognize his growing exasperation or didn't care. Somehow I suspected it was the latter.

"Tiffany, I'm the one who said no," Al said with exaggerated patience. "If you have a question about it, I'd appreciate if you talked to me."

She blinked her large blue eyes and faced him. "_Mister_ Calavicci," she enunciated, "why can't we have ice cream, too?"

"Because you weren't nice to Theresa," he said, with a tone and expression that made it clear even to Tiffany that the discussion was at an end.

"Okay," she said dismissively and practically flounced into the living room, the twins on her heels.

"That's it," Al declared. "I've had enough. Let me know when she's gone. I'll be in the garage." He stormed out of the kitchen to the laundry room where the access door to the garage was. Theresa watched him go, wide eyed, and looked uncertainly at me.

"Daddy needs some alone time," I explained, and Theresa seemed to accept that.

Finished with her ice cream, she asked, "Is Star okay?"

"I'm sure he's fine, but we can go check on him if you want."

"Yes, pweese," said Theresa. She halfway wiped at the ice cream stains on her lips and jumped from the chair. She put her hand on the door and turned to make sure I was following her.

I could see the worried expression on her face, and to tell the truth, I was a bit concerned about Star myself. He wasn't a particularly skittish dog, and for him to have made such a beeline for his doghouse, Tiffany had to have done more than just startle him.

As soon as we got outside, Theresa ran for Star's doghouse and squatted in front of it. She tilted her head to the side, trying to peer inside to see the black dog hiding in the shadows.

"Theresa," I cautioned, "if Star doesn't want to come out, you leave him alone, okay?"

Still on her haunches, Theresa twisted so she could see me and nodded. "I not upset Star." Turning back to the opening of the doghouse, Theresa stuck a hand in front of her and coaxed, "Star. Star. Come see, Star. I love you! I not hurt you."

A sound that was half whimper, half yawn came from the dog, and he hesitantly nosed her hand. Theresa giggled when the nosing turned into full out doggy kisses, Star's pink tongue going to town on her hands and arms. She petted and rubbed Star's head, and I was gratified to see that he seemed to have no sensitive spots. Whatever hurt had been inflicted on him was obviously past now.

Star soon wiggled his way out of the doghouse and into Theresa's lap, his tail wagging like mad. He now licked her cheeks, working his way towards cleaning off the remnants of ice cream before I intervened.

"All right, Star, that's enough!" I clapped my hands together and he sat down, cocking his head to the side and giving me a look that seemed to chide me for calling a halt to his affection giving.

Theresa giggled again and wiped her face. "Puppy kisses," she beamed.

"Yes, and I think we need to go wash some of those puppy kisses off. Let's go back inside. I need to check on the other girls anyway."

"Okay, Mommy." Theresa got to her feet and brushed the legs of her pants, stomping her feet a couple of times until the cuffs settled around her ankles again. Then she looked up at me and grinned. "Bye, Star!" she waved, skipping happily to the house.

She got to the door before I did and tugged on the handle, bracing her feet and angling back on her legs so she could pull the door open. Once she had it open, she waited for me to enter first then came in behind me.

"Thank you, Theresa, that was very sweet of you," I told her.

"You welcome, Mommy."

"Go in the guest bathroom and wash your hands now. I'll be in there in a second to help you rinse off and dry. I want to check on your sisters and Tiffany."

Theresa's nose crinkled at the mention of Tiffany, but she obediently made her way to the guest bathroom and I soon heard the sound of running water. I was about to go upstairs to check on the other three girls when I heard Grace giggle and clap her hands.

"Bwee! Bwee!" she cheered.

I edged to the entryway to the living room so that they wouldn't notice me, curious as to what they were up to. The three girls were standing in front of Grace's playpen, entertaining her. Bridget was playing "peek a boo" with Grace, who cheered her sister's name every time Bridget opened her hands to reveal her face. The more I watched though, the more I realized it was only the twins who were entertaining Grace. Tiffany was standing a bit back, aloof, a slight twist to her eyebrows. After a while, she folded her arms and stared at Grace, leaning close to study her face.

"Who's this?"

Michele looked at Tiffany as if she were stupid. "What do you mean? This is Grace!"

"Your Mommy's babysitting her?"

"No, dummy, that's our sister," said Bridget.

"Don't call me a dummy," warned Tiffany. "She doesn't LOOK like your sister."

"Of course she does!"

"Maybe _you're_ the dummy, '_Bwee_,'" Tiffany sneered. "Come _on_, she looks _different_."

I stepped in, "That's because we adopted Grace, Tiffany."

Tiffany hurriedly smoothed her expression when she turned to me.

"So she's not _really_ your daughter, Mrs. Calavicci?"

"Grace is just as much my daughter as Michele, Bridget, or Theresa. She didn't have to be born from my tummy to be my daughter, to be their sister. Love brings babies into families, Tiffany, and love brought Grace into ours."

Theresa started calling for me to come help her rinse off, so I had to excuse myself. Somehow Theresa had managed to soak her entire shirt as well as use an abundance of soap from her fingers to her elbows. I rinsed the soap off of her, inevitably saturating her shirt even further, so that just drying her hands and arms seemed pointless.

"We need to get a new shirt on you, baby," I told her, peeling the wet shirt off her.

The hand towel wasn't the best tool for drying her arms and torso, but it did the job adequately enough. Glancing at the large water spots on her pants, I decided we might as well do an entire outfit change on Theresa.

"Upstairs, munchkin," I said, making a shooing gesture behind Theresa.

"Only _Daddy_ call me munchkin," she said, peevishly. "_You_ call me baby girl."

"All right, _baby girl_, let's go upstairs and get some fresh clothes on."

Theresa started walking but when we reached the foyer she stopped. "Who yelling?"

I'd heard the voices a split second before Theresa commented on it and I was already dashing to the living room. Tiffany and Bridget were pulling each other's hair and shouting at each other.

"You take it back!" Tiffany hollered, both fists in Bridget's curls.

"I will not, Four Eyes," shot back Bridget. She yanked hard so that Tiffany's head was jolted. "You made fun of my sister's eyes!"

The two girls circled, never letting go of the other's hair. Michele was standing at Grace's playpen, reaching in to touch her sister and whispering to Grace, who was crying agitatedly due to all the ruckus. Michele looked near tears herself.

"Stop it! Girls! Stop it right now!" I shouted. I grabbed Tiffany's wrist with one hand, Bridget's with the other and somehow managed to halt their circling. "Let go of each other this instant!"

Bridget gave one final spiteful yank of Tiffany's hair before releasing, then whined when I had to help Tiffany disentangle her fingers from Bridget's curls. They glared at each other and I had to physically stand between them before they launched into another round.

"What were you two fighting about?"

"She called me Four Eyes," wept Tiffany.

"Bridget!"

"But, Mommy, she was making fun of Grace!" protested Bridget. She frowned and cut her eyes at Tiffany. "She put her fingers to her eyes like this," Bridget demonstrated by pulling the skin taut at the corners of her eyes, "and said…"

"I don't care what she said," I interrupted, gently moving Bridget's fingers away from her eyes. "And I don't want to see you copying that, even to show me what someone else did."

Michele hesitantly contributed, "Mommy, Tiffany _was_ making fun of Grace. That's why Bridget called her 'Four Eyes.'"

Tiffany started crying harder. "I _don't_ have four eyes! I have _two_ eyes!" She looked up at me, her lower lip trembling, and said, "Mrs. Calavicci, I want to go hooooome."

"I want you go home, too!" said Theresa.

Tiffany threw herself to the floor and howled.

"Theresa, that's not nice! Apologize to Tiffany!"

Theresa looked balefully at me and shook her head. "No, she not nice girl!"

"I _am_ nice!" wailed Tiffany. "I _am_ a nice girl!"

I looked at Theresa with such a commanding look that even her two-year-old tendency to demand her own way withered. "Theresa Marie Calavicci, tell Tiffany you're sorry."

Meekly, obediently, but without any sincerity (probably because she couldn't comprehend what had been rude about her comments), Theresa told Tiffany she was sorry.

"Bridget, now you apologize for calling Tiffany names. There's no excuse for being ugly."

Reluctantly, Bridget said, "I'm sorry, Tiffany."

Now for the touchy aspect. How to correct Tiffany without crossing any lines. She wasn't my child, and yet I couldn't let her behavior go unchecked. Her tears hadn't abated one bit, either.

Grace decided Michele wasn't comfort enough and began crying for me, extending her arms and snatching her hands in the air. "AhMa! AhMa!" Before I said anything to Tiffany, I went to pick Grace up, snuggling her against me and kissing her cheeks.

"Tiffany, come sit on the couch with me and Grace, please."

She did, very hesitant to do so and she wiped at her eyes and nose. My other three daughters came to stand beside me near the arm of the couch, watching intently to see what I was going to do to Tiffany.

"This is Grace, Tiffany, and, yes, she looks different than the rest of us. Bridget got upset because you said some things and were making fun, and maybe that's because you don't understand, honey. See, Grace doesn't look like me because she didn't grow in my tummy; she grew in another lady's tummy."

Tiffany thought about that for a second, then volunteered, "My mommy said that the daddy helps put the baby in the mommy's tummy."

"Yes, that's true." I really wasn't comfortable having this birds and the bees type conversation with someone else's child.

"So did Mr. Calavicci help put Grace in the other lady's tummy?"

I felt my cheeks flush and I coughed lightly before answering. "No. And that's why Grace doesn't look like Mr. Calavicci either. She was born to another man and lady who died. Her first father was a white man like your daddy and like Mr. Calavicci, and her first mother was a lady from Vietnam."

"Is that why her eyes are slanty?"

"We call them almond-shaped," I corrected her before Bridget or Michele jumped in. "And, yes, that is why her eyes aren't round like mine or yours. Let me explain something to you, Tiffany. God makes each of us to look unique, to look different from each other. He gives some of us blue eyes, and some of us brown eyes; some of us brown hair, and some of us blonde hair. Some of us have light skin and some have dark skin. Don't you think it would be terribly boring if we all looked exactly the same?"

"I guess so."

"I think so, too. But to get back to my point, it doesn't matter that Grace didn't come from my body. She's my daughter, always and forever, just like these three." Grace leaned back and touched my cheeks with both hands.

"Wawama AhMa!"

"I love you too, Gracie," I said, angling my head down to kiss her. Tiffany shifted uncomfortably on the couch.

"Mrs. Calavicci?"

"What is it, Tiffany?"

She played with her lower lip before raising her blue eyes to meet mine. "I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

Tiffany tugged at her lip a couple more times and then asked, "Are you going to tell my Mommy?"

"Well, I think that you should discuss what happened with her."

Sighing, Tiffany nodded and pouted.

"Wee-sah," Grace said, smiling at her sister. I looked over and saw Theresa, still half naked and starting to shiver.

"Mommy, I cold."

"Oh, honey! I forgot all about you, baby! Let's go upstairs and get you changed into some dry clothes. Back in the playpen, Gracie-pooh." I got her settled and then glanced from Tiffany to Bridget and back again. After a moment's thought I beckoned to Bridget with a hooking motion of my index finger. "Bridget, come help me with Theresa. Michele, you and Tiffany play nice, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy."

"Yes, Mrs. Calavicci."

Bridget and Theresa preceded me up the stairs and Theresa dashed into her room as soon as we reached the second floor. When I didn't come in there to help her change quickly enough, she came back out and stood impatiently in her doorway, her pants already down to her knees.

"Mommy, change me!" she demanded.

Laughing, I said, "Hold your horses, Resa!" I scooped her up and carried her into her room, where Bridget had a mismatched shirt and pair of pants ready. Theresa giggled as I flipped her onto the bed and helped her out of her pants. She looked at the pink and green striped shirt and yellow plaid pants Bridget held and beamed.

"Pretty, Bree!"

I raised an eyebrow at her taste, which seemed more suited for a round of golf at a circus, but nodded at Bridget to bring the clothing over. She helped Theresa into the shirt while I helped her into the pants. Fully dressed, Theresa clapped and scurried downstairs.

"Mommy?" Bridget asked, handing me the discarded pants from the floor. "I have a question."

"What is it, baby?" I folded the pants and tucked them under my arm.

"How did Daddy help put us in your tummy?"

I dropped Theresa's pants and had to pick them up again. "What was that, Bridget?"

"Tiffany said her mommy said that the daddy helps put the baby in the mommy's tummy and you said that was right. So how did Daddy help put us in your tummy?" She walked to stand before me and lifted my shirt, studying my abdomen as if trying to figure out the access points. "Is there a baby in your tummy right now?"

"Bree," I began, gently moving her hands and smoothing my shirt, "there's no baby in there." _Unless God's got a surprise in store for us,_ I thought.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not pregnant. Daddy and I aren't having another baby, Bree."

"But when you had me," she persisted, "how did I get in there? And Michele? How did Daddy help put us in there?"

I sat down on Theresa's bed and patted the spot next to me to indicate that I wanted Bridget to sit there. As she got settled, I racked my brain for a way to explain things that was accurate without being overwhelming.

"Honey, you know how boys have different private parts than girls do, right?"

* * *

All four girls were playing Chutes and Ladders, Michele helping Theresa, while I began making dinner. I had Grace in her highchair with a pacifier, teething ring, and rattle. She periodically banged the ring and rattle against the highchair tray, giggling around the pacifier in her mouth. 

I set out all the ingredients I needed to make crab corn chowder and was just dropping the first two sticks of butter into the soup pot as the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," shouted Bridget, and she raced to get to the foyer before I could.

"_I'll_ get it," I corrected her. "You aren't tall enough to check who it is first."

She gave me a sheepish smile and stepped back as I opened the door. Todd Phelps, Eileen's husband, stood on our porch with a smile almost as sheepish as Bridget's.

"Hi, Todd," I greeted him. "How are you doing?"

"Fine, Beth," he said, running a hand through his blond hair. "I hate to bother you…" He trailed off and I followed his gaze.

Bridget was staring intently at his fly. Turning slightly pink, I tapped her on the shoulder and she looked up at me, beckoning for me to bend down so she could whisper in my ear. I prayed Todd couldn't overhear as she whispered, "Does he have one that can make babies, too?"

"Yes," I whispered back, "now go play."

If Todd had overheard, he didn't show a sign of it. As soon as Bridget ran back into the living room, he continued with his request as if we hadn't been interrupted. "I'm working on changing the faucets in the master bath and I don't have the proper wrench. I was hoping that Al…"

He started sniffing the air, and I instinctively followed suit, quickly detecting the scent of butter about to scorch. "Al's in the garage," I tossed over my shoulder as I ran for the kitchen. "That way!"

I managed to salvage the butter from burning and quickly tossed in the onions, celery, and garlic to sauté. Once I had the mixture moving about the pot, I glanced back to make sure Todd had gone to the garage. The front door was closed and I saw no sign of him, so I returned my attention to the creation of the soup to the accompaniment of Grace's banging of toys against the highchair tray.

I added the other canned ingredients and had set myself to the task of making sure all the crabmeat was clean when the doorbell rang again. Bridget once again hollered, "I'll get it!"

"Oh, no you won't," I warned as I entered the foyer. I gave her a stern look and she retreated back to the living room.

It was Mrs. Dillson, ready to pick up Tiffany. "Hi, come on in!" I greeted her. "I was just making dinner, would you like to stay?"

Much to my relief, she said, "Oh, no, I'm afraid we can't. I need to pick up Tiffany and then we're off to visit her grandparents for supper."

"Tiffany," I called, "your Mommy's here."

Tiffany came in, the twins and Theresa following her. She looked nervous, as if certain I was going to tell on her for the ignorant things she'd said about Grace.

"We were glad to have her over. It was nice for the twins to have someone their age to play with."

"Even if Tiff-er-nee not," Theresa began, but I quickly interrupted her.

"Not able to stay for supper, I know, Theresa."

Theresa looked up at me absolutely flummoxed and wandered into the kitchen. Tiffany, however, gave me a grateful smile.

"Did you have a good time, Tiffi?" asked Mrs. Dillson.

"Yes," she nodded.

"And what do we tell Mrs. Calavicci?"

"Thank you for letting me come play."

"You're welcome, Tiffany. Tell her goodbye, girls."

The twins chorused their goodbye to Tiffany, and I walked her and her mother outside to the porch.

"Thanks for watching her, Beth," she told me. "I'll return the favor sometime."

"You do realize I have _two_," I grinned, and she laughed and waved as she and Tiffany made their way to the Lincoln Towne Car.

"Mommy, why didn't you tell her Mommy what she did?" Michele wanted to know.

"I didn't see the need to. We handled it here, and I'm sure Tiffany will tell her Mommy what happened."

"I guess so." She exchanged a look with Bridget and the two disappeared into the living room.

Shaking my head, I went back into the kitchen and finished working on the crabmeat. Theresa was playing peek-a-boo with Grace and tired of it just about the time I dumped the crabmeat into the chowder base. Grace, however, wanted to keep playing and banged insistently on the tray. She started to cry in frustration when Theresa left the room.

"Awww, Gracie, did your sissy leave you? Huh? Did your sissy leave you?" I slid the tray forward and lifted her out of the highchair. "You know what, baby? Daddy wanted me to tell him when Tiffany went home and Mommy forgot all about it. I think we should go tell him now, don't you?"

Bouncing her to try and stop her crying that the pacifier muffled, I carried her to the garage, pushing the door open. Laughter drifted inside and I paused, wondering what Al could be finding so funny. I stepped out and was greeted by Al's backside.

He was bent in half over the engine of his Corvette, the black hood open and a utility light clipped to it. On the other side of the car, Todd was bent over as well. Their heads were so close that if either of them leaned forward another inch they'd bonk their skulls.

"You didn't," Todd was saying.

"I did," Al insisted, laughing, lifting his head so he could see Todd as he confided, "Beth would kill me if she knew I told that story."

Todd looked up and saw me and started to say something, but I shook my head and lifted a finger to my lips. Todd grinned and returned his focus to Al and I quietly slipped back inside and closed the door, leaving the two of them to continue getting to know each other and strengthening their friendship. It had been too long since Al had had a good buddy to do things with, who would be there for him and vice versa. Chip had been killed early in Al's second tour. Rick had started to fill the void for Al once we'd been transferred to Texas, but eventually we were moved down to Corpus. While he'd made a few friends there, Jim Carver had died and then Al had landed the position at Starbright, moving us out here to California. Still, while Al kept in touch and maintained the friendships, none of these were that close friend I hoped Al would have—that I knew he needed.

Another burst of combined male laughter drifted to my ears and I smiled.

"I think Daddy's making a good friend," I told Grace.


	24. Saturday, January 10, 1981

**Saturday, January 10, 1981**

Al and I didn't speak much on the drive home. We didn't play the radio either. It didn't feel right.

Lost in our own thoughts and silent, we sat beside each other in Al's Corvette. Its black color matched both our mood and our attire. After a while, Al squinted as if the sun was blinding him and rubbed at his eye with his index finger. He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders, appearing to care only about the cars on the road with us.

When we stopped at a traffic light, though, he took my hand and looked into my eyes. "He was so young," he said at last.

I nodded and, instead of speaking, stroked the back of his hand. Another friend lost. Another funeral.

Al's lips twisted and his chin started trembling. "Damn," he whispered as he blinked furiously. He tugged his hand free and pressed the bottoms of both palms into his eye sockets, breathing in through his nose as his shoulders quivered. I touched his knee, gently pressed it in hopes of giving comfort.

Someone behind us honked their horn, annoyed that we hadn't pulled off upon the light change. Al took a final breath and grasped the steering wheel.

"All right, dammit," he swore as he lifted his foot off the brake and applied the gas. The engine seemed to snarl as he drove through the intersection. "God forbid I don't move the _instant_ it turns green," he muttered, casting a mutinous glare into the rearview mirror. We were silent again for a while.

"It's going to be strange to see that house and know he's never going to come back," I finally said in a soft voice.

Al nodded.

What I didn't say aloud was that I knew it was going to break Eileen's heart every time she came home— after Al had been declared Missing In Action it had broken _my_ heart to enter the bungalow we'd chosen and furnished together. The difference was there was absolutely no chance that Todd would be coming home. I was just grateful that she had family staying with her. I'd spent as much time with her as I could when we found out about Todd's death. What comfort I had to give was hers; but no matter how close Eileen and I had gotten—or how close Todd and Al had gotten—in the few months since Al and I had moved into the neighborhood, I wasn't _family_.

I'd been sitting with her the morning her mother and sister arrived. Eileen had been staring numbly into the cup of coffee I'd fixed ever since it had been placed in front of her. She didn't speak and neither did I. The only sounds had come from the television in the other room where the twins and Theresa were watching PBS. Even Grace had seemed to sense the sobriety of the moment as she refrained from babbling and sucked contentedly on her pacifier. She sat quietly in my lap, watching Eileen with a look in her eyes that seemed to me more understanding than should have been possible for a ten-month-old.

When Eileen didn't move for several minutes, I touched her hand. Looking up at me, she'd burst into tears and I hurried to embrace her, whispering a reassurance that it was okay to cry, okay to hurt. She'd nodded but immediately tried to regain her composure. However, when her family arrived about ten minutes later Eileen had crumpled into her mother's arms and finally fallen apart, sobbing so loud and hard it startled her younger sister, who stood beside them and hesitantly rubbed Eileen's back while she keened for Todd. I hadn't wanted to interrupt the moment Eileen needed so badly just to introduce myself, so I'd quietly gathered my girls and returned home.

"I still can't believe it," Al said as we drove past the pharmacy. "He was just picking up some cold medicine."

On January 6th, Todd Phelps had been driving home after making a late night run to get medicine for Eileen and himself, both suffering from congestion and coughing. He'd never made it. A drunk driver had swerved crazily from a side street, striking Todd's car and sending it careening directly into a telephone pole. Todd had died at the scene.

Two blocks later we passed the floral wreath set up on the right side of the expressway to mark the accident site. I made the sign of the cross and then reached to squeeze Al's shoulder.

"She didn't even get to say goodbye to him," I whispered.

Al briefly took one hand off the wheel and pressed my fingers still gripping his shoulder.

"She did today," he said.

I nodded. "It was a beautiful service, wasn't it?"

One side of his mouth lifted in a partial smile. "I don't think you could ask for a better one."

I leaned my head against the back of the seat and closed my eyes. It wasn't fair. Eileen and Todd had just started trying for a baby. We'd joked about how nice it would be for Grace to have a playmate her age. How if they had a boy, maybe he and Grace would be childhood sweethearts, if she didn't mind robbing the cradle a little.

"Did you know she asked me to bring her a pregnancy test the day after Todd died?"

Any confusion Al may have felt at my abrupt topic change he kept to himself. "No, you didn't tell me that."

"Eileen was late and she was hoping..." I shook my head, and choked back a sob. "But it was negative. My God, Al, you should've seen her face. She was so heartbroken."

Silently, he reached for my hand. "Any chance it was a false negative?"

I blew out a sad breath. "No. She started that night." That had been a huge contributor to her paralyzed state the morning her family arrived, the absolute dashing of her hopes. "She wanted to be carrying his child so badly…"

Al repeated something I'd often told him, "To have a piece of him with her."

"Yeah." I pressed his hand. "I want to hold our girls."

"We're almost home, honey."

We were silent again as he drove into our neighborhood. When he got to the four-way stop at our street, I turned in my seat and grabbed his arm. Startled, he jerked and looked at me.

"What?"

I dragged my teeth across my bottom lip then leaned to kiss him. "I love you so much, Al."

His eyes softened and he touched my cheekbone with a gentle hand. "I know. I love you, too, Beth." He kissed me and then turned onto our street, driving the few blocks to our house. He pulled into our driveway and killed the engine, but neither of us moved to get out of the car.

As one, our heads turned to the left, to the Phelps' home. True to her Mississippi roots, Eileen had hung a black wreath on the door and all the shades were drawn. The cars in the driveway belied the empty house. Eileen, her sister, her mother, and Todd's parents had remained by the graveside as the rest of the mourners dispersed.

I reached to touch Al's cheek and gently turned his face toward me.

"Thank you for coming back to me," I said. "Thank you for surviving Vietnam."

He rubbed a thumb along my collarbone. "Thanks for being my reason to."

A tentative knock on Al's window drew our attention away from the kiss we shared. Turning to look, we saw Bridget peeking in, clinging to the lip of the door as she balanced on her tiptoes.

"Back up, Bridget, so I can open the door, sweetie," said Al. We got out at the same time and hurried to our four-year old, looking worriedly at the house.

"Honey, what are you doing in the front yard? Is Mrs. Hutchins okay?" I asked, gripping her shoulders, frantic at the thought that the babysitter had suffered a heart attack or stroke.

At that moment, Mrs. Hutchins came bursting out of the house, holding Grace in her arms and shouting for Bridget. She halted, panting when she drew up beside us. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Calavicci, Mrs. Calavicci! I was changing Grace's diaper when Bridget called out that you were home. I heard her open the front door, but by the time I got downstairs she was already outside."

Al started chuckling and the elderly woman flushed.

"I see you didn't waste any time trying to get to Bridget," he laughed.

It was then that I noticed Grace's bare bottom between her Winnie-the-Pooh sweater and her shoes and socks. My lips twitched as I tried to contain the laughter.

"I'll take her, Mrs. Hutchins." She passed my baby to me and began apologizing profusely, but I shook my head as I tugged the shawl from my shoulders and wrapped it around Grace's naked legs. "No need to apologize; you did the right thing chasing after Bridget. However, _you_, Miss Bridget…you know better!"

"Yes, well, it's too chilly to be discussing this outside," put in Al, and he swept an arm toward the house, where Michele and Theresa were staring from the doorway.

"Mommy," Michele said in a prim, disapproving voice as we came inside, "Grace is nakie."

"Nakie," repeated Grace, giggling. "Nakie."

Mrs. Hutchins turned red again.

"Not for long," I smiled at the babysitter, taking Grace upstairs. Behind me, I could hear Mrs. Hutchins repeating, "Mr. Calavicci, I just want to tell you again how sorry I am."

I carried Grace to the changing table in her room, where the matching corduroy pants (bearing the likeness of Pooh bear on the knees) and fresh diaper lay abandoned. As soon as I set her down, Grace smiled up at me.

"MaMa." She drummed her feet against the changing table and giggled while she shouted, "Nakie!"

"We've learned a new word, eh, Gracie?" I asked her as I put the new diaper on her.

"Gracie," she burbled. "Gracie nakie."

"Not anymore." I tugged the elastic-waist pants on and snapped the legs, realizing immediately that I'd missed a snap on the right leg and so had to redo them. By the time I got back downstairs, Mrs. Hutchins had left.

"She's not still upset, is she?"

Al cocked an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

I put Grace down on the living room floor so she could crawl around and noticed that Bridget was suspiciously absent. "Where's Bree?"

Al rolled his eyes as he took off his dark suit jacket and draped it on an arm of the couch. "Hiding in the den," he raised his voice, "as if she thinks I don't know that." He loosened the black tie with thin burgundy stripes, removing it to place it on top of his jacket, then unbuttoned the collar of his white dress shirt.

We walked to the den and stood in the doorway. Bridget was apparently hiding behind furniture. Al tapped his foot against the hardwood floor and when she didn't emerge at that, he cleared his throat. "I know you're in here, Bridget Louise Calavicci. If I have to look for you, I'm going to be very upset."

Slowly, she stood from behind the desk. "I'm sorry," she said automatically.

"For what?" Al asked for clarification.

Bridget shrugged in response as she replied, "I dunno."

He rolled his eyes skyward and shook his head. "Come sit on the couch with me and let's talk about it."

Hesitantly, she obeyed. I sat in the nearby reading chair.

"You know you're not allowed in the front yard by yourself."

"You and Mommy were out there," she reasoned.

"I see," Al said, nodding his head, "and, of course, you asked us if you could come join us."

Her little eyebrows crinkled as the gentle sarcasm was lost on her. "No, I didn't."

Al feigned surprise. "You didn't? Well, then, you must've asked Mrs. Hutchins for permission."

"I told her you were home."

"And so Mrs. Hutchins said you could go outside."

"Not 'zactly…"

"What _'zactly_ did Mrs. Hutchins say?" pressed Al.

"Ummmm…" Bridget twisted her ankles back and forth and looked at the ceiling.

"She said, 'No, Bridget, WAIT!'" called Theresa from the doorway.

"Shut up, Resa!" Bridget shot back.

"Bridget Louise," I scolded, "don't tell your sister to shut up. And this doesn't concern you, Theresa; go play in the living room."

Theresa reluctantly withdrew.

Al regarded Bridget with raised eyebrows. "Is what Theresa said true?"

Bridget stared at her toes. "Yes, sir."

Al and I exchanged a bemused look. _'Sir?' _he mouthed. Of all the times for a manners lesson to take hold. "Well, Mommy, what do you think we should do?" he asked me.

"I think five minutes in the corner should be sufficient."

"I agree. Does that sound fair, Bridget?"

She let out a relieved sigh and nodded.

"I'll get the egg timer. You and Daddy decide on the corner."

I went to the kitchen to retrieve the timer and when I returned, Al and Bridget were walking towards the corner directly opposite the entrance to the den. While Al got Bridget settled in the corner, I wound the egg timer and set it on the desk.

"When that goes off, you can come out. And we can see you from the living room, so don't even think about turning around or you'll get two minutes added."

"Okay. Yes, ma'am." Her reply was muffled.

As we walked into the living room, Michele cried, "Look! Look what she can do!" and pointed to Grace, who stood teetering beside the coffee table. Grace looked immensely pleased with herself, her light brown eyes nearly reduced to slits from the smiling rise of her chubby cheeks.

"Gracie!" she proclaimed, clapping her hands in the instant before she fell backwards onto her bottom. She looked stunned for a second and then began giggling.

"Here, honey," said Al, moving behind her and offering his index fingers to her. She gripped one in each hand and pulled herself up, using him for leverage and balance. Grace bounced in place a few times and then extended her right foot. Al grinned and said, "Okay. Let's practice, shall we?" He supported her as she made her slow, wobbly way to me, releasing his hands at the last to grab me around the knees.

"Ma_Mee_," she cheered in a throaty voice, looking directly up at my face. She pawed at my thighs, beaming when I lowered my index fingers for her to grasp.

"Wait a second, baby, you're facing the wrong way," I told her, crossing my arms as I guided her to turn around. She immediately started bouncing and grunting, eager to move forward. "Wait, Mommy can't help you walk with my arms pretzled." I tugged my fingers free and untwisted my arms, reaching down for her again, but she had already taken an independent step forward.

Al clapped his hands encouragingly. "That's right, Grace. You can do it. Walk to Daddy."

The smile on her face twisted slightly as she concentrated, her left foot now moving forward. She wobbled, then took another step with her right foot.

"Mommy! Do you see that?" cheered Michele.

The egg timer went off and I called out, "Bridget! Come here quick, sweetheart, Grace is taking her first steps!" She came running in and stood beside me as we watched her baby sister.

"Gracie walking!" Theresa exclaimed and applauded.

Grace took two more steps before toppling to her knees and crawling the rest of the way to her father, looking up at him and saying, "Da_Dee_."

Al scooped her up immediately and kissed her, a gigantic smile on his face. "You walked, Gracie! You did it!"

"Gracie nakie," she said proudly, beaming as we all burst into laughter. She wiggled in Al's hold, eager to get to the floor and try again.

* * *

Al and I had put the girls to bed and, after an hour of watching the Saturday Night Movie on NBC, had decided to make it an early night ourselves. We'd just gotten settled in bed when there was a knock on our door. 

"Come in," I called.

The door opened and Bridget walked inside, rubbing at her eyes.

"What's wrong, Bree?" Al asked, lifting her into the bed to sit between us. "Did you have a bad dream?"

"No, I can't sleep, Daddy."

"Aw, sweetie, why not?"

She shrugged and then asked, "Daddy, are we gonna adopt Eileen? Because if we do, she can have my bed."

Al looked at me and my expression told him I wasn't sure where this was coming from any more than he did. Giving Bridget his full attention, he gently asked, "Honey, why would we adopt Eileen?"

Bridget looked from him to me, confused. "Because Todd had to go to Heaven. And Eileen needs someone to take care of her."

Her wording was strikingly similar to the way we had explained our decision to adopt Grace. Of course it made perfect sense to her to adopt Eileen now. Our daughter's compassion brought tears to my eyes and I hugged her. As soon as I released her, Al hugged her, too.

"Well, are we?"

"Eileen's a grown-up, Bree. She can take care of herself," I explained.

"Nuh-uh." Bridget shook her head. "Her mommy and sister can't stay and Eileen needs us to take care of her."

After a moment, Al said, "You know what, you're absolutely right, Bridget. Eileen does need us to take care of her. So we'll adopt her. But we won't do it the same way as with Grace. Eileen won't be living with us."

"She won't? How will we adopt her?"

"It'll be honorary. We won't _really_ adopt her, but we'll adopt her in our hearts," he declared. "Do you think you can give Eileen hugs and kisses when you see her? And maybe draw her some pictures that might make her smile?"

"I can do that."

I thought for a second and added, "I can help you make cookies for her. And we'll help her plant flowers in the Spring."

Bridget looked intently at me. "And she can borrow my Buster Bear."

I choked back tears and forced a smile. Buster Bear was Bridget's favorite stuffed animal. "That's very generous of you, precious." I kissed her forehead and looked at Al over her head; he was coughing lightly and rubbing at his eyes.

"Can I bring him to her tomorrow?"

"I think that would be terrific," Al said, brushing a kiss against her cheek. "Now I also think you need to go back to bed and try to get some sleep. Gimme some sugar before you go."

"Okay." She kissed him and then me before crawling to the foot of the bed and getting down. "Goodnight, Mommy and Daddy. I love you!"

We chorused, "We love you, too," back to her. When she closed our door behind her I reached for Al and started crying.

"Where did we get such a thoughtful child?" I wept.

Al just rubbed reassuring circles on my shoulder and didn't speak. I soon realized it was because he couldn't.


	25. Thursday, December 10, 1981

**Thursday, December 10, 1981**

The flickering TV screen cast odd blue shadows at the foot of the bed. A gold beam of light fell across Al's shoulder from the lamp on the nightstand as he pored over an engineering textbook. He'd been obsessed with perfecting his knowledge for weeks now. I knew the pressure of Starbright had been building on him for the last two months as meetings and plans gave way to reality. Every position in the project had been filled, with a few exceptions, and work had finally begun. The government wanted only the best, and Al was working himself to the bone to fulfill their expectations. However, while they only expected him to be able to manage his people and meet deadlines, Al expected far more of himself. He wanted to know all the ins and outs of every department, how they all intermeshed, what was involved with the theories, the experiments, and the achievement of the project goals.

I sighed at the sight of the tension in his body. Al always gave 200 percent in whatever endeavor he committed himself to. I leaned over and lightly kissed his bare shoulder, tracing the thin white scars on his tanned skin. Al reciprocated with a brief kiss on my forehead and a grateful smile before returning his attention to the engineering theories. I shook my head. He was definitely under pressure if that was all the response I got. Al really could be hopeless sometimes, I smiled inwardly.

I settled back against my pillows and tried to focus on the PBS special on ancient Egypt. The day had been so hectic between Christmas shopping as well as getting a head start on birthday plans for Bridget and Michele that I hadn't had a chance to stop so the highbrow but leisurely PBS offerings seemed to be a nice change of pace. The narrator's even toned voice wouldn't disturb Al from his reviews, either. I ran my hand across my forehead, reminding myself to adjust the thermostat when the show was over; it was set too warm. Despite my wish to relax, I found myself reaching for the tablet on the nightstand and checking over my list of things to do, only half hearing the host's soft Americanized British voice as he explained, "And thus, in this new age of archeology, in addition to the tried and true methods of good old fashioned detective work, we turn to the tools technology has provided. Dr. Samuel Beckett is particularly qualified to speak to these new developments as he assists the team from his knowledge of Egyptian Archeology and Hieroglyphics in addition to his extensive background in Physics."

The show switched from a wide shot of the dig to a close up of the man, who described the technology he'd developed to help the team locate where to dig. Samuel Beckett seemed very familiar to me somehow. I leaned forward and studied his face, idly setting the notepad back on the nightstand. Dr. Beckett turned his head as he spoke and I noticed a small shock of white hair above his forehead. I drew my breath in as in a flash I realized where I had seen him before. I remembered the same voice, the same face, the same _man_ in my living room twelve years ago, telling me Al was alive. And then _vanishing!_

_But the man I saw was **older**!_

The show shifted to a shot of the commentator, who said, "This area of study seems to be an unlikely place for utilizing such high level Physics applications."

I bit my lip, mentally urging the show to cut back to the scientist, but it panned across the white board where a combination of equations and maps were meticulously scrawled while he continued speaking, "It is my experience that integrating multiple areas of study yields connections that can't be seen in conventional analysis. For instance, by working on this area of archeology, I see potential synergies with a concept that I've developed concerning the nature of space-time which may allow us to interact in a more personal nature with the past." Finally, the camera returned to Samuel Beckett's face and I pulled up my memories of the angel who'd visited me in '69, comparing the two.

Yes, the angel had been older, but somehow, it was definitely the same man. _How?_ My mind swam at the dizzying thoughts running through it. The show became a blur and the man's face floated before my mind's eye. "_I'm a friend of Al's_,_"_ he'd said. I swallowed hard and grabbed Al's thigh, shaking his leg to get his attention.

"Al? Do you know him?" I pointed at the screen, where the scientist's face was prominently displayed as he continued explaining how archaeology was akin to traveling into the past then went into detail about his theory on personally observing the past.

Al contemplated Beckett's eager face. "No, hon, never met him before."

I paled. "Are you sure, Al? Are you absolutely sure?"

"Positive, Beth, why?" Al looked at me and noticed the total lack of color in my face. "Honey? What is it?" I shook my head wordlessly. Al's tone grew sharp. "Beth! What's wrong?"

"_I'm a friend of Al's." …_ _"Al's alive and he's coming home." … " A story with a happy ending, but only if you believe me." …_ _"Al's alive and he's coming home." … "Al's alive…" "I'm a friend of Al's." _The words cycled over and over again in my mind.

_But Al **doesn't know him**. How could they have been friends? Unless…traveling into the past…can it be? _I gasped as I realized with sudden clarity that I had been about to give up on Al—I _had_ given up on Al in 1969.

"_I'm here to help you. Help you, and help Al." … "Al's alive and he's coming home." _

Samuel Beckett had figured out how to do it. He'd figured out how to travel in time and visited me so that I _wouldn't_ give up on Al. Suddenly, Al's long-ago nightmare of being declared dead and losing me came to mind—and it terrified me. He'd felt that the dream was real because at one time it _had been real!_ Our home, our daughters, our love, our life together never would have been because of a choice I had made. Or had I? I frantically searched for meaning. The implications of the enigma slapped me with their full force.

My heart was racing as quickly as the thoughts in my mind. I tried to catch my breath, but my lungs refused to cooperate and I started to wheeze. My body began to shiver uncontrollably as my hand instinctively went to the base of my throat. _I'm going into shock_, the clinical portion of my mind recognized. I heard the engineering book fall to the floor and felt Al's hands grasping my shoulders.

"Beth!" Al's voice was filled with alarm.

I struggled to look at him as I gasped for breath, but all I could see was Samuel Beckett's face.

"Hang on, baby, everything's going to be just fine," Al promised. He was trying to sound reassuring, but fear tightened his voice.

I felt him wrap me in a blanket. He cradled me in his lap with one arm while the other reached for something. I heard him urgently talking to someone, but his words were meaningless sounds. Reality was funneling down, and Samuel Beckett was at the center. I vaguely felt Al's hands moving across my neck and chest, and then everything went black.

* * *

The first sound I heard was the consistent beeping of a heart monitor. The small disks attached to my chest were the first sensation I became aware of. Then I felt my hand being tightly squeezed and the slight tickle of breath moving across my fingers. As I moved closer to consciousness, I heard Al's voice, murmuring. I slowly opened my eyes.

I recognized the emergency wing of the hospital. Looking to my right, I saw Al bent in prayer, my hand pressed against his lips. His face was as pale as the walls and blotched red from the worried tears he'd shed.

"You look terrible," I croaked. My throat was bone dry. The oxygen tube resting on my upper lip was heavy as I spoke.

Al's head snapped up. "You don't look so hot yourself," he smiled wanly. He slid his fingers up and down my arm. "God, you gave me such a scare, Beth."

"What happened?" I asked in a hoarse whisper. I couldn't work up any saliva at all.

Al poured a small cup of water from a nearby pitcher, and gently raised it to my lips. After I swallowed, I smiled weakly at him in thanks.

"I don't know, baby. You were watching some special on pyramids or pharaohs. You asked me if I knew the guy talking, and then you started shivering and gasping for breath. And then you just collapsed. My God, Beth, your heart was beating so fast I thought it was going to burst." Al closed his eyes as he remembered then opened them to look at me, the seriousness in his look belying the lightness in his tone. "I know those pharaohs had some fancy tombs, Beth, but I don't want to see you in one." He reached for my hand, now sincerely declaring, "I couldn't deal with you dying on me."

"I'm sorry, hon. The last thing you need right now is more stress."

"Don't you dare apologize," Al told me. "You're what's important." He leaned over to kiss my cheek.

"Oh, Al, the girls!" I started to sit up, but Al held me down.

"Calm down, honey, everything's fine. Eileen came over to stay with the girls when the ambulance arrived. They're all sound asleep; I called to check on them while I wasn't allowed to be with you. All that matters right now is making sure you're okay."

I took a deep breath, wondering how I would explain what had happened. Al was sure to ask at some point. _How can he believe what I hardly believe myself? That a man, who I thought was an angel, claiming to be his friend, came from the future to restore my faith in Al's return? From the future? Time travel? How is that possible?_ I shook my head as I felt my pulse speed up at the paradoxical thoughts running through my mind. The monitor's beeping sped accordingly.

I looked into Al's concerned face and smiled reassuringly at him. "I'll be fine," I said.

"Do you mind if I corroborate that?" the doctor asked as he entered the room. He was rather young and had a detached air of efficiency; apparently things like introductions were beneath him. He whipped out his stethoscope and dispassionately began examining me. When he was done, he tapped his pencil thoughtfully against his teeth and made notes on the chart, never once making eye contact or speaking to either of us. I felt Al tense in annoyance, and I gently pressed his hand to calm him.

Al finally had enough. "Well?" he demanded.

The young doctor glanced up from the chart. "She was admitted in a severe state of shock. Blood analysis revealed a viral infection." I noticed the small bandage in the crook of my arm for the first time. The doctor continued, "But I'm not convinced the infection alone was the catalyst. Is your family under any stress right now? A new job? A move? Troubles with your children? Marital problems?"

"Well, things have started gearing up at my job," Al said, almost to himself, when the doctor paused in his litany.

"I see. And do you bring your work home? Is your wife exposed to your personal stress?"

Al realized what the doctor was implying. He closed his eyes and nodded.

I glared at the doctor, who hadn't spoken to me at all, so confident in his own knowledge and abilities. He didn't speak to me now, either. He nodded knowingly and marked the chart. "We'll keep her for observation. Good night." He turned and left without another word.

"Al, don't listen to him. You're not responsible for this," I said. But I could see that the damage had already been done. Al wouldn't meet my eyes. I silently cursed the doctor. "Dammit, Al, look at me," I demanded. Al slowly raised his bloodshot eyes.

"Beth, oh, Beth, baby, I had no idea I was . . ."

"Shut up, Al!" I interrupted him angrily. "I can't believe you're listening to that . . . that . . . that nozzle." Despite himself, he chuckled weakly at my appropriation of his vocabulary. "I have an infection, Al. Infections can cause shock."

"Yes, Beth, they _can_, but I think maybe he was right in that there's more to it than that."

I didn't answer.

"I'm right, aren't I? Honey, is my work affecting you?"

"No, Al, it's not. It has nothing to do with your job."

"What was it, then, that piece about the pyramids? Come on, why would that upset you? Beth, what happened tonight?"

I hesitated before answering. I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to lie to Al, but at the same time I didn't see how I could possibly tell the truth, as I wasn't too certain of the facts myself. I opted for a middle ground. "Did I ever tell you how I knew you were still alive for those eight years while you were M.I.A.?"

"No, but what does that have to do with this?" Al asked, refusing to be deflected.

I shushed him as I continued. "Before your photograph ever showed up in _Life_, I knew you were alive. I know this is going to sound insane, but I was visited by…well, by an angel. An angel who convinced me you were still alive. I—I'm ashamed to admit it, Al, but I thought you were dead back in '69. Two years—I couldn't imagine anyone surviving that long after being shot down." I touched Al's cheek, hoping to soften the blow that I had ever doubted he would come back to me. "Anyway, this man who was talking on the show, well he looked an awful lot like the angel I remember, and I guess it was just too much for me to handle. On top of the fact I didn't even know I was sick. Believe me, sweetie, you had nothing to do with what happened tonight."

Al slowly shook his head from side to side. "Why didn't you ever tell me this?" he asked, his eyes growing moist.

The sight of tears building in his eyes broke my heart and stray tears of my own spilled down my cheeks. "I didn't want to hurt you by letting you know I didn't believe in you the whole time you were gone."

"Oh, Beth, how could you think I would hold that against you? No wonder you collapsed." Al hugged me, being careful of all the wires attached to me. "I never once thought you were superhuman. God, I can't imagine how much you had to have been hurting while I was gone. Baby, the important thing is that you believed in me enough that you waited for me, whether an angel helped you or not."

My chest tightened as a powerful wave of love for this man washed over me. Stretching to touch his cheek again, I stroked his face and looked deeply into his dark brown eyes. "And I believe in you now. I believe that your project will be a smashing success," I said.

"Now don't start worrying about that," Al ordered. "My job is an off-limits topic for tonight. Right now you just rest and get better. Promise me, okay?"

"I promise," I sighed. I closed my eyes as Al began stroking my hair and softly singing, the gravelly, slightly off-key tones soothing me to sleep and easing the conflicting thoughts to a far-off corner of my mind.

"Wise men say only fools rush in….but I can't help falling in love with you . . ."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Many thanks to Helen Gerhard for writing a fictional PBS sequence to improve this scene!Thank you also to one of my beta-readers, MJ Cogburn, for pointing out a flaw needing correcting._


	26. Saturday, January 2, 1982

**Saturday, January 2, 1982**

"Happy Birthday, honey."

Al loosened the scarf he'd tied over my eyes and I opened them to see the entrance to Gianelli's. I gasped at the extravagance.

"Al…"

"Now now, no protesting, Beth. You only turn 43 once."

"Thank goodness."

He laughed and kissed me. "You don't look a day over 35, baby."

"Good answer." I grinned and squeezed his hand.

Al led the way inside, pausing to tell the maitre'd, "Seven o'clock reservation for Calavicci."

"Yes, sir, for two. Right this way." He snapped his fingers and a smartly dressed woman rushed to the podium, retrieved two menus, and escorted us to a corner table.

Al had certainly gone all out. A floral arrangement of calla lilies and greenery was the focal point, and tall candlesticks provided the illumination of soft glowing light. Kindly waving off the hostess, he pulled my chair out for me, kissing the back of my neck as he pushed my chair back in after I sat.

I reached for his hand after he sat down and pressed his fingers. "This is beautiful, Al. Thank you."

"You're what's beautiful." He tightened his grasp on my hand. "I love you."

"And I love you." We leaned in and kissed.

A soft cough caused us to break shyly apart. Our server smiled awkwardly as he filled our water glasses. "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Calavicci. My name is Kevin and I'll be serving you tonight. Can I start you off with anything to drink?"

Al glanced at the wine list and selected an old vintage of red wine, requesting a full bottle.

"Excellent choice, sir." Kevin nodded and disappeared to fill the request.

"Now where were we?"

I leaned close to him. "Right about here."

* * *

The food was marvelous, rich in flavor, texture, aroma, and presentation. I let Al order for both of us, and he picked the perfect dishes to complement the wine. Periodically, Al would stop eating to quickly kiss me. I felt my cheeks flushing and I couldn't tell if it was the wine or the kisses that caused it. As we ate, we reminisced about days gone by.

We'd met at a New Year's Eve party at the Officer's Club, two days before my 22nd birthday. As soon as Al had learned that my birthday was upcoming, he immediately set into motion a whirlwind plan to guarantee a romantic celebration. I'd already been smitten by him at the dance; the birthday dinner and subsequent winter stroll that followed had tied me to him forever. Though we'd kissed at midnight on New Year's Eve, the kiss we shared amidst the twinkling white lights of the garden walking path truly counted as our first.

Three months later, Al had proposed to me. Dropping to his knee at the same spot in the garden, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a tiny black velvet box, which he opened without taking his eyes off my face. I still treasured the words he'd said as he declared how much he loved me. _"Beth, you're the woman I've dreamed about my whole life. I love you so much that I can't imagine my life without you in it. I want to grow old with you. Elizabeth Rose Warner, will you marry me?" _Almost three months after that, and the weekend before _his_ birthday, we were married.

"You were the best birthday present I ever got, honey," I told him.

Al smiled at my comment and responded, "To date, nothing has beat my 27th birthday. Being married to you, honeymooning in Canada after the train ride to Niagara Falls, never leaving the bed that day…" He trailed off and kissed me.

This time there was no blaming the wine.

* * *

Halfway through the second course, I felt like we were being watched. I glanced around the restaurant, but couldn't identify the source of the gaze. Al looked up at me and inclined his head curiously. 

"Something wrong, honey?"

I shrugged. "I feel like someone's eyes are on us."

He searched the restaurant now, too. "I don't see anyone, babe." He grinned. "Besides, how could every eye not be drawn to your beauty?"

"Oh, Al." I blushed and focused on my plate.

Al chuckled and we ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. A couple of bites remained on my plate when a shadow fell over the table, and I looked up, expecting to see Kevin, our waiter. Instead, I saw a man whose face startled me so much I gasped and dropped my fork.

Dirk Simon.

He was older now, as were we all, some thirteen years having elapsed since I'd seen him last. The lines in his face were deeper and crow's feet crinkled around his eyes. His floppy hair had been cut shorter, and large patches of grey hair marked his temples.

"Dirk!" I exclaimed.

Al, who'd been curiously examining the stranger at our table, suddenly turned to look at me, astonished that I knew this man.

"Beth Calavicci, I thought it was you."

"Dirk, this is my husband, Al. Al, this is Dirk Simon."

Al extended his hand courteously, but regarded him with suspicion. "How do you do?"

Dirk shook it firmly. "Fine, thanks, and you?"

"Fine. Having a wonderful evening with my wife." He very slightly enunciated the word "wife."

"When did you come back?" Dirk asked Al without preamble.

Al's brow creased. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sorry, I should have been more specific. When did you come back from Vietnam?" At Al's narrow questioning glare, he elaborated, "I met Beth in '69, when you were M.I.A. We were supposed to go out but she called me to break it off." He looked at me now and smiled. "You were right. You said you knew he was alive and coming back, and you were right."

I was aware of Al's shocked stare, could feel the weight of it, and I awkwardly said, "Yes. I was wrong to ever doubt it."

"I'm sorry I gave you a bit of a hard time. I just didn't want to let a good thing get away. How did, whatshisname, Jake take it?"

"Jake?" Al's voice had a definite edge to it.

I pressed my lips together and looked down at my plate. "Yes, um, Jake was this policeman I met the same day I met Dirk."

"Very insistent, too," laughed Dirk, remembering. "Manhandled me away from changing your tire so he could introduce himself to you. Then he showed up unannounced to take you out while I was visiting." A tinge of annoyance passed across his face even now.

"Jake, uh…I never saw him again. I guess he realized pursuing me was wrong, because shortly after you left, so did he."

Dirk looked at Al again. "So when did you come back?"

Al answered warily, "In '75."

"In September. And I was never happier." I looked at Al, but he wasn't meeting my eyes.

Dirk whistled softly. "Wow. That was a long time." He paused, studying Al's face and then his brows lifted. "Wait a minute. Weren't you in that photo of the POWs? It made the cover of _Life. _Won a Pulitzer, didn't it? I didn't recognize him from the picture you showed me at your place, Beth, but now I can see it. Man, that was a powerful picture. It's amazing that you made it home at all."

I reached for Al's hand and gripped it in mine. "Not only did he make it home, but he went to the moon. I'm so proud of him!"

Kevin returned to clear our plates, and Dirk stepped out of the way for a moment, reclaiming his position as soon as Kevin left.

"So, Dirk," Al said evenly, "what do you do?"

"I'm an attorney." He reached into his jacket and smoothly whipped out a business card, which he handed to Al. Al shoved it into his own pocket without even looking at it.

Dirk shrugged slightly and turned to me. "I'm glad it all worked out for you, Beth. I never forgot you."

"Obviously," Al muttered under his breath.

A slight flush colored Dirk's face. "Well, I better get back to my clients," he said. "I'm sorry if I disturbed your dinner. It was great to see you again, Beth. You're still as beautiful as ever." He kissed my hand and left.

I dropped my hands into my lap and looked at Al. He didn't speak and his face was unreadable. I bit my lip and waited. Al drained his glass of wine and poured another.

"Al? Honey, talk to me, please."

He slowly sipped the wine, but still didn't speak.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I ever doubted you'd come home to me."

Another quiet sip of wine.

I closed my eyes and opened them again, tears blurring my vision. "Honey, it was only a couple of days. I was weak. I thought you were dead!"

"Do you want dessert?" Al suddenly asked.

My stomach twisted. "No, I've kind of lost my appetite."

"Mind if I have some?"

"No, go ahead."

He drank some more wine and nodded, then signaled to Kevin, who was walking past. Al ordered a decadent chocolate cake, and asked for two forks. "In case you change your mind," he told me.

While we waited for Kevin to return, Al finished his glass of wine and refilled it. He looked at my serious expression and gestured toward my own glass.

"It's your birthday, Beth. Stop moping."

"Al, I'm sorry. I--"

Al held his hand up. "Forget about it, Beth."

"But--"

"You're with me. Not him, me." He smiled weakly. "You're mine."

I reached for his hand, grasped it between both of mine and rubbed his fingers. "Yes, I am."

Al nodded firmly, and drained his glass again.

* * *

Al paid the sitter while I went upstairs to check on the girls. They all slept soundly, and I brushed kisses across each of their cheeks before going into our bedroom. I was in the process of changing into my pajamas and had just stepped out of my dress when Al came in. He smiled at the sight of me in my slip and embraced me from behind.

"Happy Birthday, Beth," he said, kissing the side of my neck.

"Thank you, honey. It was wonderful." I turned to face him and touched the diamond pendant he'd given me. The small jewelry box had arrived along with the chocolate cake Al had ordered for dessert. I'd started crying at the sight of the sparkling gold chain and shimmering diamond nestled in the black velvet and I reached for Al with shaking hands, kissing him over and over again. Perhaps for the benefit of Dirk, who we were now aware was sitting directly across the restaurant from us, Al had risen and made a big show of draping the necklace around my neck, his hands stroking and caressing my skin as he fastened the clasp. He'd finished by kissing my cheek and running a hand down my arm to grasp my hand as he returned to his seat. Though my stomach still twisted with guilt, I had given in to Al's cajoling and shared the cake with him.

"It looks beautiful on you," Al said, fingering the delicate gold chain and lightly running his thumb against the hollow of my throat. "I knew it would."

"I love it," I said, touching his face. "I love you."

Al smiled and kissed me again, his hands caressing my back. He stroked my cheek and then disappeared into the bathroom. I finished changing and hung my dress in the closet, then started turning the sheets down. I heard the toilet flush, and then Al returned, shedding his own clothes and putting on a pair of pajama pants.

"Man, I'm really kind of wiped out, honey," he yawned. "I think I'm gonna just crash and burn."

"Okay. I'm going to read for a little while."

Al nodded as he switched off the overhead light, kissed me goodnight, and climbed into bed. As soon as I got settled, Al kissed my shoulder and positioned his hand beneath my left breast. He'd been doing that every night since I'd collapsed, resting his hand somewhere on my chest, monitoring my heartbeat and breathing as he drifted off to sleep. I read until the words started running together. Then, I turned out the light and joined my husband in the land of dreams.

* * *

I carefully lifted Al's hand from my chest and got up to go to the bathroom, yawning and stumbling my way through our darkened bedroom. I squinted against the bathroom light when I turned it on, and blearily headed for the toilet. When I was done, I stared at myself in the mirror while I washed my hands. My mind went to the incident at dinner, and my breath caught in my throat at the thought of Dirk's words. I cringed as I realized what a betrayal to Al it had been for me to go out with either Dirk _or_ Jake. Had I truly been so starved for company? I could have turned to Yvonne, to Hattie, or Anna—heck, any number of my friends or coworkers. Why had I been so quick to give in to the flirting of a lawyer and a cop while my husband was missing? 

_I thought Al was dead,_ I reminded myself. _I was barely living myself anymore. I had started to shut down inside. I was so sure he had died, and part of me died with him. Dirk and Jake's attention made me feel alive again. _

I thought back to Al's words in the emergency room after my collapse when I'd finally told him about the visit from the "angel" that had given me faith enough to hold on.

_"Why didn't you ever tell me this?" he asked, his eyes growing moist._

_The sight of tears building in his eyes broke my heart and stray tears of my own spilled down my cheeks. "I didn't want to hurt you by letting you know I didn't believe in you the whole time you were gone."_

"_Oh, Beth, how could you think I would hold that against you? No wonder you collapsed." Al hugged me, being careful of all the wires attached to me. "I never once thought you were superhuman. God, I can't imagine how much you had to have been hurting while I was gone. Baby, the important thing is that you believed in me enough that you waited for me, whether an angel helped you or not."_

I sighed. I _hadn't_ told Al that I'd also been seeing two men during that week, only that I'd given up hope of ever seeing him again. I'd hoped to keep him from ever finding out—after all, I'd practically expunged that portion of the week from my own memory, and I flushed with renewed guilt at my own betrayal and at how I'd hurt him.

My hands were turning red from being held under the hot water so long, and I abruptly twisted the knob to stop its flow. I dried my hands on the towel and switched off the light, readjusting my eyes to the darkness.

Rather than returning to bed, I padded out into the hallway, intending to check on the girls again. I stopped in Grace's room first. She was curled into a ball, clutching a stuffed animal, a smile on her sleeping face. I kissed her cheek and adjusted the sheet, then returned to the hallway.

A muffled scream caught my attention, and I paused as I tried to identify the source. An icy fist of dread clenched my stomach when I realized the voice didn't belong to a frightened child. It was Al's.

I dashed back into our bedroom and closed the door behind me, so the girls wouldn't hear him. I switched on the light, swiveling the dimmer switch until only a dull illumination glowed, giving me just enough light to see. Al screamed again, his body reacting to whatever horrific memory consumed his mind. His back arched and his hands spasmodically clenched the sheets.

I drew near to the bed and bent over him, reaching to stroke his cheek. He flinched away as soon as I made contact, and I frowned, wondering what my touch had translated to in his night terror.

Al was talking now. "Lieutenant Albert M. Calavicci….United States Navy…serial number 2212329."

"No, Al," I quietly said as I sat on the edge of our mattress, hoping to ease my way in and guide him back to wakefulness. "You're a captain now. _Captain _Albert Calavicci. You're home with me, and our four beautiful little girls."

"Lieutenant Albert M. Calavicci…United States Navy…serial number 2212329," he responded mechanically. Abruptly he twitched, then writhed in agony, and another scream escaped him, then another, and another. The slight pause that separated each cry led me to believe he was remembering a beating.

I quickly breathed a prayer and tried again to reach him. He hadn't been trapped this deep for years, and my already anxious stomach twisted into knots.

"Al, listen to me. It's Beth. Albert, baby, you need to wake up. You're home and safe. Do you hear me, love? You're home." I went to take his hand, but once my fingers closed around it, he cried out in pain and struggled to free himself. I instantly let go of him and dropped my hands into my lap.

He tossed his head back and forth against the pillow, begging for mercy. I closed my eyes, cut deeply by his pleas and echoing them to God, praying He'd intervene and alleviate my husband's pain. When I looked at Al again, he'd pulled his wrists together as if they were bound in front of him. _Dear God, what is he reliving now?_

I got a hint of what he 'saw' when he drew his hands up to protect his head, still holding his wrists together as though he couldn't pull them apart. He trembled, cowering, and then his body jerked against the bed, four times in rapid succession. His hands moved from his head as he tucked his elbows against his ribs, and then his head jolted against the pillow. I felt sickened by just the vaguest thoughts of what he'd endured at the hands of his captors.

He went suddenly, utterly still for a moment and my heart caught in my chest.

"Al?" No response, not even a flutter of eyelashes. "Al! Oh, God, baby, wake up! Albert!"

He didn't wake, but he twitched and moaned.

Relieved, I exhaled roughly. The relief didn't last long, though. A moment later his face contorted in anguish and he let out an awful yell. I reached for his hand, and this time he didn't fight me. Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be aware of the contact. After a few seconds he cried out again.

On a sudden inspiration, I pressed his hand against my chest—after all, he'd taken to sleeping with one monitoring hand on my chest, and I hoped that the by-now familiar sensation might help to ground him into reality.

"Feel that, baby? Can you feel my heart beating?" I tried touching his face again. He didn't resist that now either, and his screams gradually faded to a whimper. I stroked his cheek with one hand, using the other to keep his hand flattened over my heart. "Concentrate on my heartbeat, baby…let it lead you back home."

Another repetition of his name, rank, and serial number. He tensed in his sleep, but didn't scream this time. I hoped I was breaking through.

"Come back to me, Albert." I caressed the back of his hand as I held it in place. "You're safe now."

Somehow that word made it into his mind, and Al abruptly repeated it in a raw voice. "Safe?"

"Yes. Safe. You're safe at home, Al. Baby, wake up and see for yourself."

"Safe," he mumbled again, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Home." His eyes danced frantically behind his closed lids, and his lips worked back and forth.

"That's right. Oh, Al...please wake up."

"Home. Where…my Beth is…" Al drew in a ragged breath.

"You're home, too, honey. You're home _with_ me!" Desperation filled my tone, and I had to resist the urge to shake him. God only knew what that would do to him right now.

"Home…I want…to go home…"

"You _are_ home, Al! Listen to me! You're home. Open your eyes, baby!" I leaned forward, pressing his hand hard against my breast in the hopes of getting my heartbeat more tangible to him. "I know you have to be able to feel my heart. C'mon, baby, come back!"

Al opened his eyes, but they were glassy, and I knew he wasn't seeing me yet. "I want to…I want….my Beth…"

"I'm right here, honey. Look at me. _Look at me._ Wake up and _look at me!_"

His whole body shuddered and he blinked. The brown eyes that looked up at me were now focused. Al's breathing was spastic and he abruptly started crying.

"Oh, Al. Shhh, honey….it's all right. Baby…you're safe. You're home. Shhhh. You're safe." I gently rubbed his cheek.

"I know," he panted. "I know." He pulled his hand free of mine and pressed the heels of both his hands into his eyes, fighting to stop the tears.

I bent at the waist so that I was half-lying on top of him, my face next to his, and I stroked his head while he got control of himself.

"I should be over this by now," he muttered.

I shook my head and kissed his cheek. "Al, love, most men would be having more nightmares than you do."

"I'm sorry." The words caught in his throat and he shivered. "I'm sorry you have to deal with this."

"You're kidding, right?" I sat up and stared down at him. "My God, Al. What kind of woman do you think I am?"

"One who deserves a better life than this."

"A better life than one with a true hero? Four terrific kids and all I've ever wanted in a friend and lover?" I kissed him. "How could any other life possibly be better than this one? With you."

He stared at me for a moment, and then his tears started again. He started to turn his face away, but I gently turned it back towards me and held it still as I kissed him again. I kissed him lightly, then tenderly teased his lips apart and kissed him more deeply.

"Oh, Al, I love you."

He reached up and slid his hands into my hair, pulling me down to him. He kissed me hungrily, almost wild in the aftermath of his flashbacks as if needing to counter the horrors. Both of us were panting to catch our breath when we broke apart.

"God, how I love you," he told me earnestly. Al moved his hands down to my hips and gently nudged until I shifted position so that I was stretched out on top of him. "Yes," he murmured. He pressed me against him, his hands traveling up and down my back.

I caressed his face and kissed him over and over again, intimacy seeming to comfort him as words alone apparently could not tonight. He moaned deep in his throat and I could see passion starting to ignite in his eyes. Al slid his hands along my sides, kissing my throat and murmuring my name. I raised up slightly, making it easier for him to slip his hands under my pajama top, studying his face and the way the residual tension there gradually eased with each caress. He massaged my waist, his hands slowly and seductively ascending my ribs towards my breasts when a plaintive voice called out from the hallway.

"Mommy? Mommy, I need you!"

Al dropped his hands to the bed and sighed. I smiled and kissed him again. "Hold that thought," I told him. I rolled off him and stroked an affectionate hand down his chest then walked to our door, softly opening it.

Theresa was standing in her doorway, rubbing her eyes. "Mommy?" she asked again.

"Yes, baby, what is it?"

"I hafta go potty."

I looked more closely at her and noticed a dark spot on her gown. It was hard to make out only by the hall nightlight, so I walked up to her and turned on the light in her room. What had appeared to be a shadow was a large wet splotch. I didn't think Theresa actually had to go to the bathroom but had awakened for another reason.

"Honey, did you wet the bed?"

Yawning, she nodded. "I'm sorry, Mommy."

"It's okay, baby. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

I got a fresh pair of underwear and a nightgown from her dresser and guided her into the bathroom, where I started a bath running. I stripped her down and ordered her to sit on the bathroom rug and not move. Returning to her room, I changed her sheets, thankful for the rubber mattress cover, which cleaned up easily. By the time I'd finished with her bed and came back into the bathroom, the bathwater had filled up, and I switched off the water. Theresa was practically asleep, so I lifted her into the tub and quickly washed her. She stayed upright but that was about it. Still, while she wasn't much help, she wasn't a hindrance, either.

I picked her up and dried her off, guiding her legs into the panties and tugging them onto her. I pulled the nightgown over her head and threaded her limp arms into the sleeves.

"All right, Resa. Let's go back to bed, baby girl." I hefted her into my arms and carried her back to her room, settling her onto the fresh sheets and tucking her in. She opened her eyes briefly and smiled at me.

"I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too, my darling. Go back to sleep."

She nodded and stretched her mouth in a yawn.

I kissed her cheek. "Goodnight, Theresa."

Quietly, I made my way back to our room, and smiled wryly when I walked in. Al had fallen back asleep. I switched off the overhead light and climbed into bed beside him.

"You owe me one, loverboy," I whispered. I gently stroked his cheek and prayed he'd sleep well.

* * *

"Beth, where are you? Beth?" 

I woke up as Al's flailing hand slapped against my arm.

"I'm right here, honey. What is it?" I quickly asked, fearing the worst given what we'd already endured this night.

"Beth, come back to me. Please…"

Switching the lamp on, I sat up and looked at him. Al's forehead was rumpled in agony. Tears streamed from his closed eyes and his voice was tight. "Beth….Oh, God…..Beth!"

Fear gripped me and I touched his face. "I'm right here. Al, listen to me. I'm right beside you!" _Two nightmares in one night. What's going on?_

"Beth…..why?" His head thrashed from side to side on the pillow and he wailed, "I need you! Beth! Don't go….."

"I haven't gone anywhere, Al." _Oh, God, please let him hear me!_ "Al, honey, please wake up!" I gripped his shoulder with a trembling hand. "Albert! Wake up. Baby, it's just a dream. Can you hear me, Al? I'm right here!" I started to shake him, trying to break through the nightmare, no worries about strengthening memories of a torture session this time. "Albert, it's Beth! Wake up!"

Whimpers convulsed him, "Beth….Beth, please…." He'd stopped tossing, but his eyes were clenched shut and his jaw trembled.

It was getting hard to speak around the tears clogging my throat, but I did my best. "I'm sitting next to you, baby. It's me, Albert. It's Beth. Wake up….oh, please wake up…." I ran my thumb over his forehead, bending to kiss him. "It's just a bad dream, baby….that's all it is….I'm right here…."

Slowly, his eyes slid open. "Beth?"

"I'm here."

He seized my hand in his and squeezed it tightly. I bit my lip and continued to caress his brow.

"You left me," he gasped out. "You left me for another man."

My stomach roiled at the thought of Dirk…and Jake. And the mysterious man and his message of hope that had stopped me from pursuing God only knew what with Dirk Simon. I looked at my husband and shoved down the guilt. I needed to be strong for him so I shook my head and kissed him. "No. No, I didn't. It was just another bad dream, baby," I whispered.

He nodded, but couldn't stop the frantic pace of his breathing. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around my waist and buried his head in my chest. I enfolded him into an embrace and stroked his hair. "It was just a bad dream," I repeated.

He shivered in my arms. "I love you," he moaned.

"Oh, Al, I love you, too." _So deeply that it aches. I never wanted to hurt you, baby. _I kissed the top of his head. "It's going to be all right." I hugged him, rubbing his back and shoulders. "I'm here."

"I don't want to lose you, Beth."

I fought back tears at that. After this evening's revelation of my poor judgment in the past, _he_ worried about losing _me_.

"You're not going to. Do you hear me? You're not going to."

He nodded and closed his eyes, nestling his head more snugly against me, his ear pressed over my heart. He inhaled shakily and groaned. "I bet _Dirk_ isn't bothered by visions at night," Al said bitterly.

I stiffened at that. "He also isn't half the man you are. He didn't serve his country. If he doesn't have any nightmares, it's because he didn't _earn_ any." I stroked his shoulders again. "Baby, you're a hero." I lifted his head and slid down so that we were eye to eye. "And even if you'd never gotten a single medal, you're _my_ hero." I kissed him.

Al responded and his heart rate increased as the kisses became more insistent. He pulled away after a moment and looked into my eyes with a pleading urgency.

"Beth, I need…"

I put a finger over his lips to silence him. I understood completely. Without saying anything, I took him into my arms and pressed seductively against him, hooking one leg around his. I kissed him deeply, wantonly; our hearts pounded against each other as passions aroused.

We made love, desperately. Al needed more than just gratification—he needed to know I was with him. Our lovemaking reassured him that his night terrors had indeed been nothing more than dreams. This was what was real. This was what mattered.

More at peace afterwards, he fell asleep in my arms, his head pillowed on my chest. I stayed awake, watching over him. At regular intervals, I stroked his scarred back with one hand and caressed his curly hair with the other. I shook my head as I thought about Al's bitter words comparing himself to Dirk—as if there were any comparison at all! I wished he'd never come up to our table, and I definitely wished he'd never mentioned the war or that week in '69. Perhaps Al would have escaped the nightmares tonight. Then again, there never had been much in the way of predictors for when Al would be tormented by a flashback.

He tensed in my arms, and whimpered softly. I rubbed his back and shoulders and whispered, "Everything's fine, baby. You're home. Everything's fine. You're safe in my arms. I won't let anything happen to you." I angled my head to brush a kiss against his forehead.

Al's body gradually relaxed and he lapsed back into a deep slumber. I watched over him until I finally fell into a light sleep as the night moved into the wee hours of morning, confident that my fierce guard had succeeded in keeping his tormentors at bay.


	27. Sunday, January 3, 1982

**Sunday, January 3, 1982**

I was just on the edge of wakefulness, debating whether or not I wanted to acknowledge the day, when I felt Al shift against me. He lifted his head from my chest and kissed the spot where my ear and jaw met.

"Good morning, beautiful," he told me in a husky voice when I opened my eyes.

"Good morning," I said, smiling and kissing him. I slid my hand down his back and up again, coming around his neck to caress his cheek. Though I wanted to ask him if he'd slept well, I thought better of it and settled for cuddling with him as the fog of drowsiness gradually began to seep away.

Al nuzzled my neck and murmured, "Do you think the girls are gonna wake up soon or do we have time to fool around?"

I was just reaching for the clock to see what time it was when we heard rustling—no, shoving! The shoving suddenly resounded with a heavy thump against our bedroom door, and then a loud smack of a hand against skin in retaliation. We were out of bed and in our robes before the wailing started.

Quickly knotting his robe, Al strode to the door and pulled it open. He jumped back as two dark-haired banshees rolled towards him, hands gripping hair and scratching cheeks as both screamed and sobbed. His eyes widened and he looked surprised by the ferocity with which the girls attacked each other.

I, however, wasn't surprised. Though the twins didn't often engage in physical fighting, I'd seen enough of their squabbles that I didn't blink. Janie and I had been known to get into a few catfights ourselves growing up. The question on my mind was—what had started it.

Al reached down to separate them and earned a scratch on the back of his hand that welled a few drops of blood.

"Ouch!" he yelped. After giving me another stunned look, he returned his attention to the twins and bellowed, "That's **enough!**"

They froze and, giving each other hateful looks, broke apart. The twins panted, their hair frizzed and sticking out around their heads. Both had oozing scratches on their cheeks, and Bridget's nose was bleeding.

"What is going on here?" demanded Al.

Bridget gave Michele an annoyed shove, shouting, "She started it!"

"Did not!"

They glared at each other and I reached down to bring Bridget next to me, while Al took hold of Michele before the fight could resume.

Bridget wiped her nose with the sleeve of her pajamas and realized for the first time that her nose was bleeding. Indignant, she turned to me and cried, "Look what she did!"

"Looks like you did a few things to her, too," I commented, indicating the deep scratch on Michele's right cheek that bled freely. Looking to Al, I asked, "Can you keep control for a few seconds while I get what I need to get them cleaned up?"

He favored them both with a hard look and nodded. "What started the fight?"

"Ask her! She started it!" Bridget pointed at Michele, who promptly stuck her tongue out at her.

While I gathered washcloths and antiseptics, Al continued grilling them. Bridget kept insisting that Michele had started it, while Michele denied it. No matter how he phrased his question, they didn't deviate from various combinations of passing blame and denial back and forth.

"All right, just hush for a minute," Al finally said. He took one of the washcloths from me and began gently dabbing Michele's cheek with it while I tended to Bridget. Both girls were sullen by this point, their tears dried and the blood congealed on the smaller scratches. When Bridget's nose finally stopped bleeding, we sat the girls on the foot of the bed—out of each other's reach—and regarded them.

"Let's try a different approach this time," said Al. "_Where_ did the fight start?"

Neither girl wanted to be the first to answer; they just turned and glared at each other again. Al cleared his throat. "Bridget, where did the fight start?" She looked at him, but still didn't speak. More firmly, Al asked again, "Bridget Louise, I asked you a question. Where did the fight start?"

She mumbled her answer. "The bathroom."

Michele nodded, "Because Bridget is a poo-poo head!"

"Michele!" My eyes widened to the point they began to hurt.

"Well, she is!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"**ENOUGH!**" roared Al, and both girls immediately subsided into silence.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," I added, "and if Daddy and I don't start getting some answers, you're both going to be punished until one of you decides to 'fess up."

"I already _told_ you," Bridget whined, protesting, "Michele started it!"

"Did not!" Michele argued, then saw her father's face and quickly put a finger to her own lips.

Al sighed and rubbed his face, looking at me with a weary expression, his gaze traveling wistfully along my hastily closed robe that had apparently begun working its way open judging from the draft I now felt from neck to navel. I turned to close it properly, cinching the knot I tied at the waist. One thing was certain—there would be no "fooling around" this morning.

"All right, Bridget, tell me your side of the story," Al said. He looked at Michele. "No matter what Bridget says, you are not to say a word, Michele. You'll have a turn, do you understand?"

Her right nostril flared in disgusted annoyance, but Michele nodded.

"I got up and went to the bathroom," Bridget said, primly. "I remembered to flush and I washed my hands and I came out. Then Michele used the bathroom, and when she came out, she yelled at me and shoved me. So I shoved her back. And then she shoved me again, and she was shoving me down the hall, so I grabbed her arms and we kinda shoved each other and then she slapped me. So I pulled her hair and scratched her and then…"

"We get the idea, Bridget," I cut in. Michele was fighting to stay quiet, her eyes bulging in disbelief and outrage written all over her face. "All right, Michele, what's your story about the fight?"

"We both woke up and Bridget got to the bathroom first and I really, really had to pee-pee so I asked her to hurry. She took for-ev-er in there and she was only doing number one. She flushed the toilet and I knocked and asked her to hurry 'cause I had to go so bad I was doing the potty dance and I didn't think I could hold it anymore and she went really slow, and took for-ev-er washing her hands and then she came out and closed the door behind her and when I went in it was all dark and I had to turn the light on and then she had closed the potty and by the time I got the lid up and sat down I had made a little on my panties!" Michele inhaled a deep breath. "So when I got out of the bathroom Bridget was standing there laughing at me and I told her she made me go in my panties and she said I needed training pants like Grace and so I shoved her!"

I was surprised by Michele's admission of guilt and yet I understood her reaction. Bridget had certainly provoked her. However, we couldn't allow her to go unpunished for fighting, and while she hadn't started the initial confrontation, she _had_ started the physical fight.

"I'm very disappointed in both of you," Al said, shaking his head. "Look at what you did to each other." They hesitantly obeyed him, each almost afraid to look at her sister. He crossed to my vanity and picked up a hand mirror, which he held up before them and directed them to look into it. After they looked at themselves, he finished by repeating, "I'm disappointed in both of you."

They lowered their eyes as one and sighed, then shifted their gaze to me. I folded my arms and added, "Aren't you ashamed of yourselves? Is that any way to love your sister—by playing a prank on her?" I looked at Bridget and then turned to Michele, "Or by trying to beat her up?"

They were silent for a moment.

"Your mother asked you a question," Al prompted.

It was in small voices that they responded, "No, ma'am."

Michele looked up at us, "I'm sorry."

"You're telling the wrong person, Michele." Al gestured toward her sister.

Sighing, Michele turned to Bridget. Her apology was much more sullen on the repeat. "Sorry."

"Michele Gertrude…say it like you mean it," Al directed.

"I'm sorry I shoved you and hit you."

Bridget nodded and then hesitantly said, "I'm sorry too."

They looked at us as if to ask _"Can we go now?"_ Al sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He let out a small groan and looked at me. _"Punishment?"_ was the question he telegraphed.

Meting this out was going to be tricky. While they'd each inflicted damage on each other during the fight, Michele had started it and struck the first blow. Yet Bridget's provocation had to be taken into consideration as well. I needed time to think about it, but it wasn't a luxury we had at the moment.

"No sweets for either of you today," I decided.

"Not even your birthday cake?" Bridget tearfully asked.

I'd forgotten about the leftover cake from the small party we'd had yesterday. But I had to be firm.

"Not even birthday cake." I looked at them again and then said, "And no TV or books today either. I want you girls to show us you can get along with each other."

"Okay, Mommy," Michele said in a resigned tone.

"Now kiss and make up," said Al, "and then go get dressed for church."

The girls hugged and kissed each other and then slowly walked out of our room. I looked at Al.

"Church? You're kidding, right? The way they look?"

He laughed and pulled me to him. "Isn't it usually you trying to convince me to go to Mass?"

I couldn't argue with that, but the thoughts of the stares we'd get—_I'd_ get—from the old ladies in particular was mortifying.

"Al, they look like a wildcat attacked them. Their faces are a mess! What am I supposed to say if someone asks what happened?"

"The truth." He playfully tugged at the belt of my robe. "You wouldn't think about fibbing at church would you? Besides," he grew more serious, "it'll teach the twins a lesson about fighting. If someone asks, you let them answer."

* * *

Sure enough, our family was the recipient of more than a few stares at Mass that morning. I felt the harsh glares of Mrs. Rasullo and her best friend Mrs. Novak most distinctly. As soon as Father Gerald finished his homily and the recessional exited, they both made a beeline for us. 

"Hello, Beth," Mrs. Novak said, her steel grey bun as tight as the expression on her face. "I see the whole family is celebrating the New Year together."

"Oh, but look at the twins," tutted Mrs. Rasullo. "What happened, did they fall into the bushes at your house? I was telling Esther just the other day how badly your bushes needed trimming."

I sighed and gave a small smile as I said, "The twins got into a fight this morning."

"With each other?" gasped Mrs. Novak. She looked at me with barely veiled disapproval. "In my day mothers taught their daughters to be little ladies."

Speechless, I just stood in the pew holding the twins' hands. The polite smile on my face froze and I silently nudged the twins forward to leave. They looked uncertainly up at my taut face but obliged. Behind me, holding Grace in one arm with Theresa grasping his other hand, Al came to my defense.

"Did they?" he commented as he passed. "Perhaps you should consider taking a refresher course."

"Well! Did you hear what he just told me, Maria?"

We left their muttering behind us and headed out of the church. Outside, Father Gerald was shaking hands with the departing parishioners, and he smiled as we stepped outside. He patted Grace's cheek and shook each of the girls' hands before shaking Al's hand and then mine.

"Always good to see the Calavicci clan at church." Father Gerald looked at Michele and Bridget and remarked, "Looks like it was quite a morning."

"We got in a fight," offered Michele.

"But we made up," Bridget quickly added.

"That's good. I'm glad you made up," Father Gerald told them. "You make God happy when you forgive one another." Catching sight of my burning pink face he chuckled. "Don't look so embarrassed, Mrs. Calavicci—I have three sisters. I've seen much worse than this before. At least you made it to Mass."

"Thank you, Father." I hustled the girls down the steps and to the parking lot.

While we waited for Al and the younger two girls to join us, the twins looked up at me. "Are you upset, Mommy?"

I sighed. "Frankly, yes."

They touched their scratched-up cheeks and frowned. "Mommy, we're sorry we fought today," said Bridget.

Michele nodded, her eyes filling with tears, "We won't do it again, we promise."

I had to chuckle at that. Of course they would fight again. They had just turned five barely over a week ago. We had years of disagreements ahead of us. Anyway, it wasn't so much their fight that had me upset, but the looks and comments from Mrs. Novak and Mrs. Rasullo…and my self-castigation over Dirk Simon that had carried over from the previous night.

Al joined us and unlocked the station wagon so the girls could clamber in. When I didn't move to get in as well, he stepped closer to me.

"You're not still letting what those old biddies said bother you, are you, honey?"

"Can we just go please?"

"All right, you don't have to bite my head off."

"No, wait," I touched his shoulder, "I'm sorry, babe. Thanks for standing up to Mrs. Novak for me."

"I just wish I could've said it where Father Gerald could overhear." Al smirked and kissed me on the cheek. At my surprised expression, he laughed and added, "Oh, come on…you were thinking it!"

* * *

As the day wore on, thoughts of last night weighed heavier and heavier on me. I wished that Al would have said something, rather than bottling it up like he always did with anything that bothered him. While the memories of how I'd started to be taken in by Dirk's charm generated enough guilty feelings on their own, when I added in how his appearance at our table last night had triggered night terrors for Al, the guilt settled into the pit of my stomach like heavy boulders. 

While Al played Candyland with the twins and Theresa, I took Grace upstairs and tried putting her down for a nap. She popped up and tossed her blanket on the floor every time I turned my back, so I picked her up and carried her to the rocker. Once I sat down, I draped her blanket over her and started rocking and humming, hoping that the trick that had always worked on Theresa would work on her.

"Mommy, me not sleep," Grace declared.

"That's right, you're awake right now. But Gracie needs to take a nap."

Laughter drifted upstairs and she stared indignantly at me. "Sissies play! Not nap! Me play!"

"Your sisters are going to take a nap, too."

"When?"

"In just a few minutes."

"Me not sleep." She yawned and settled against me despite herself. "Me play."

I started a gentle rubbing on her back and nestled my chin on the top of her head as I continued rocking and humming "Brahm's Lullaby."

Grace yawned again and slowly began to go limp. "Me…not…sleep…" she managed to get out before deep breathing took over.

Even after she fell asleep, I stayed in the chair with her in my arms. Her curled up body was snuggled into my chest, her head pressed against my neck, and one small hand gripped the V-neck of my sweater. I fondled her cheek and whispered, "I love you, Grace." I didn't want to shift her and possibly wake her, but I did wish I could see her face—her long lashes spreading across her cheeks, her delicate mouth in the small smile that so often traced her features as she slept.

Coldness against my ankle drew my attention downwards, and I looked to see Star sitting at my feet, his short tail wagging. He stretched on his hind legs to rest his front paws in my lap and I reached down to pet him as he leaned into my hand.

"What are you doing upstairs, boy?"

He whimpered softly and nudged my hand again, urging me to pet him. Star looked into my eyes as if discerning my distressed thoughts and licked my arm before dropping back to the floor and trotting out of the room.

Wondering at the dog's behavior, I inclined my cheek against Grace's head and closed my eyes as I continued rocking. I tried to focus on the softness of her baby skin as I stroked her cheek, the warmth of her knuckles where they pressed against my chest, and the regularity of her breathing, but instead, I thought of Al's face as Dirk had matter-of-factly described his pursuit of me in '69.

I knew I should have told Al sooner, but I had honestly blocked a lot of it out. I also acknowledged that the timing of whenever he learned about it still wouldn't lessen the hurt and betrayal. Whether I'd told him from the moment he arrived home or not, the thought of me spending time with another man was something that absolutely killed Al.

A cold hand of shame twisted in my chest and I squeezed my eyes more tightly closed. Grace sighed in her sleep and murmured, "Mommy." Her hand tightened on my sweater and she turned her face into my skin.

"Honey?"

Al's voice startled me and my eyes flew open as I sat up and gasped. Grace mumbled an annoyed "Awww" from the back of her throat and shifted closer to me in her sleep.

"You scared me!" I whispered.

He grinned, "I thought you were sleeping too."

I shook my head. "No, just thinking."

Al bent to lift Grace from my lap, smiling as she snuggled her head into his chest as soon as he took possession of her. He kissed her forehead before easing her into the crib and draping the blanket over her again.

"They're all down for the count now," he whispered as we walked out of her room and downstairs.

"I'm glad. I was hoping to have some time with you this afternoon."

"For that fooling around we didn't get to do this morning?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. "If that's the case, we're going the wrong way. Unless you had another location in mind…"

"Fooling around isn't exactly what I had in mind," I admitted around the kisses he planted on my lips when we reached the den. "I wanted to talk to you…about Dirk Simon…and what he said last night."

"Oh." The smile immediately disappeared from Al's face and he stiffened. "What's there to talk about?" he said in a dismissive voice, turning slightly away.

"I think there's a lot to talk about. At least, I need to. I need to know you understand."

"You thought I was dead. I understand perfectly," he said easily, still not looking at me. "You were lonely."

"Al, that's not what it was. I mean…it wasn't anything!" I grabbed his arm and held on until he faced me. "He was kind to me, that's all."

Inscrutable, Al just nodded. "It's okay, Beth. I was gone a long time."

"It's _not_ okay," I insisted. "Nothing happened between us, I swear to you. I would never…"

He took my hands and brought them to his lips, smiling a half smile at me as he kissed my fingertips. "You don't have to convince me of anything."

Though his words were intended to comfort me, they did anything but. I tried to match his smile, but could only manage a slight upturn at the corners of my mouth. "I love you, Al. Always have."

"Always will," he finished for me, tracing my jaw with his index finger. He pressed his forehead to mine. "I know."

I hugged him for a moment, clinging to him as I tried to accept the reassurance he was trying to give me—a reassurance he shouldn't have to give, didn't have to give. I couldn't, and I pulled back, turning away from Al as I said, "I'm sorry. I should never have doubted that you'd come back to me."

Al gently put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face him. "You thought I was dead." Something in his tone, in his expression opened up a valve inside me and whether he wanted it or not, a confession was about to pour out.

"Everyone was telling me it was time to give you up for lost. Janie and R-Rob…they," I broke off, bringing a hand to my mouth and biting the knuckle of my index finger to keep from crying. After a deep breath, I continued, "They said the odds were that you had been killed. But I wouldn't listen to them. I kept hoping against hope that you were alive. Even when I heard about other men who'd been shot down after you—men whose bodies had been recovered…I still hoped."

He was silent, his face revealing nothing.

"For two years I clung to that hope. I watched so many men come through Balboa from Vietnam; saw what they'd been through. Saw the odds claim them one by one, and," my voice shrank, "I started to doubt.

"I was dying inside. Just going through the motions. I started working double shifts at the hospital because it was better than sitting at home missing you. And that's when they brought Andy in."

"Andy?"

"He was just a kid, Al. Burned so badly he had every right to give it all up. But he had a will to live that was so strong you could feel it. He reminded me of you, actually. And he was beating the odds…for a while."

"He didn't make it, did he?" Al said in a gentle voice.

I shook my head, that day now coming forth in my mind with such clarity and detail that it surprised me. "He died. It was horrible. And…what was left of my hope died with him."

Al guided me to the couch and urged me to sit, taking a seat beside me a moment later.

"I went to the marina that afternoon. I'd been going there a lot, just looking out over the water and thinking about you. I was leaving for home when I got a flat tire."

"And Dirk showed up to change it," cut in Al.

"Yeah." I closed my eyes as his flirtatious comments came to mind, how he'd said it was a shame I was married, and I flushed as I remembered how I'd smiled at that.

"And this Jake person showed up after that?"

I nodded. "He changed my tire and, um, for some reason he said they were investigating Dirk while his partner told Dirk the same thing about me. Anyway, the next thing I knew all three of them were gone and I drove home in tears. The only thing I could think was that I wished you were there."

I told Al everything, about meeting Dirk's mother at the marina, about Jake taking me out for dinner. About crying in Jake's arms all night. Al didn't comment on that, and I wasn't sure if I was relieved or apprehensive about his silence. He didn't speak until I mentioned bringing Dirk home with me after running into him at lunch. I thought the fact that I'd talked exclusively about Al would soften things.

"You _told_ him that?" Al said in an appalled tone when he learned I'd discussed the then-fragile state of our marriage. "It must've made his day to learn you were considering divorce."

"I wasn't! I…oh, Al, I told you—I was weak! I was hurting! I thought you were dead! And I felt dead, too. Dead inside. I guess I was looking for excuses to start living again." I buried my face in my hands and started to cry. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Al hesitantly touched my shoulder.

"That night was when the angel came," I whispered. "First thing the next morning, I called Dirk and told him you were alive and that I couldn't – wouldn't see him again."

Upon my mention of the angel, Al grabbed me in a tight embrace and quickly murmured, "Shh, okay. It's okay, honey. I understand."

"Do you?"

"Didn't I just say that?"

I suspected he was concerned that discussion of my strange visitor might lead to another collapse and that was what had prompted his quick resolution, but I didn't dispute his proclamation. Instead I relaxed into his embrace.

"I love you, Al."

"I love you, too. Always have."

"Always will."

He nodded and kissed me then settled back and just held me. I leaned against him and held his forearm where it wrapped across my chest. Subtly, Al slipped his hand under my breast so he could feel my heart beating. I fought down a lump in my throat at his overriding concern for me that hadn't abated any over the last few weeks.

"Al?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry I kept that from you."

Hugging me tighter, Al said, "I thought I told you not to worry about it anymore."

"You did," I acquiesced. Sighing, I laid my head back upon his shoulder and tried to take his advice.

Soft whining drifted up to our ears and we both looked down to see Star anxiously pacing at our feet. He looked toward the door and then desperately up at us again as he whimpered.

"Someone needs to go outside," commented Al. As the word "outside" left his lips, Star's ears perked up and his tail started wagging.

"I'll take him," I offered, and stood to do so. Star dashed ahead of me and was waiting at the kitchen door, his tail wagging and he let out a soft "yip" when I didn't open the door fast enough for him. As soon as the door cracked wide enough that he could pass through, he took off as fast as his short legs would allow and made a beeline for the fence, where he marked the border of his territory. His immediate urgency alleviated, Star took his sweet time finding the perfect spot to finish his business, and it was only when I tapped my foot and impatiently cleared my throat that he obeyed my commands to "Hurry up."

After a final territory marking, Star pranced back inside, apparently satisfied with his patrol. He paused to lap some water from his bowl before making his way to his basket and curling up on the tartan flannel pad. I shook my head and laughed softly; Star raised his head to look disdainfully at me before settling down for his nap again.

I made my way back toward the den, but noticed that Al had moved to the living room. His back was to me and he stood before the window, looking out without giving any sign of really seeing anything. He seemed to be staring into space or, maybe it was into himself. Ice tinkled softly in the squat tumbler he held as he raised it to his lips. I stepped fully into the room and he moved his head slightly so that I could just see him in profile. Without saying a word, he turned his head away and drank another sip of the amber liquid.

I watched him continue to nurse the drink, watched him continue to stare aimlessly out the window. No matter what he said, I knew the tense slant to his shoulders meant that he was still hurt by my confession. I wanted to go to him, to hold him, but I held off. Al had made it clear the subject was closed.

I wasn't so sure.

Ice tinkled within his glass.


	28. Thursday, February 25, 1982

**Thursday, February 25, 1982 **

"And they lived happily ever after. The End."

Michele looked up at me when I closed the book. "Do people live happily ever after in real life, Mommy?"

"Yes, they do," I answered softly, not wanting to wake her twin who had fallen asleep several pages back.

She sat thoughtfully then said, "I wish we could live happily ever after."

I cupped my hand under her chin and tilted her face toward mine, searching her eyes for what led her to say that. "Don't you think we are?"

"We're not happy all the time."

"That's not what that means, Sheli. 'Happily ever after' doesn't mean there are never any arguments, or sad times. It means that they love each other and they stay together through good times and bad."

"So Beast and Beauty…they had arguments after they got married?"

"More than likely."

"Do you think they had kids?"

"It's possible."

Michele considered that and looked intently at me. "Are you and Daddy living happily ever after?"

I didn't hesitate for a second. "Yes. I believe we are."

"I'm glad." She yawned around her next words, "Because Daddy was crying last night."

I froze and tried to keep my tone light as I pressed, "Honey, are you sure you weren't dreaming?"

"Uh-unh," she shook her head and rubbed her eyes. "I had to go potty and I saw Daddy come out of your room. He was crying. His face was wet and everything."

"Did he say anything to you?" I asked anxiously, hoping that the tension I felt didn't come across to my young daughter. _Crying? Oh, God, is he still having nightmares?_

"No, he didn't see me. I tiptoed downstairs after I went potty and he was standing in the living room drinking a glass of water."

_In the living room?_ I pursed my lips. Al hadn't been drinking water. He'd have been in the kitchen. If she saw him in the living room, his beverage had come from the liquor cabinet.

"Mommy? Why was Daddy crying?"

"I don't know, baby." I bent to kiss her goodnight. "You just go to sleep and don't worry your head over it, okay?"

"Okay. 'Nite! I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too. Goodnight, Sheli."

I turned off the lamp and left their room, walking past the darkened bedrooms where our youngest daughters slept. When I reached the top of the stairs, I paused before descending and looked at our bedroom door. A cold twisting seized my stomach as Michele's revelation of witnessing her father's tears continued to linger in my mind.

Slowly, I descended the stairs thinking of Michele's statement for the entire 20-step trip. _"His face was wet and everything."_ I wondered how I hadn't heard him, hadn't been awakened by his weeping, and I wondered, too, what sort of dreams he'd had to prompt such a physical reaction. A couple of weeks ago Al had startled me awake with his tossing and turning. I'd barely gotten the lamp lit when he began screaming then exploded into wakefulness. A bout of shivering had taken hold of him, ceasing only when I wrapped my arms around him and held him close as I whispered soothingly, "It was only a dream, baby." He'd let me console him for a while, but then he'd abruptly pulled away and left the room without a word. Although I'd tried to stay awake until he returned, I was so tired I fell asleep before Al rejoined me in bed.

The thought struck me that perhaps Al had gotten "a drink of water" that night as well. I rubbed my arms to counter a nervous chill as I considered the possibility that I had slept through a great number of my husband's nightmares.

The TV was on in the living room, but Al slept in his recliner, oblivious to the sitcom. A vertical line between his brows gave evidence that his slumber wasn't entirely peaceful. I sat on the couch and reached for the remote to lower the volume a couple of notches while I kept my eyes on Al. His arms were folded across his middle over the papers he'd been reviewing and he shifted his shoulders slightly. He moaned softly and murmured words that were pitched too low for me to hear. Just when I was about to stretch to touch him, he woke up.

Al opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling before rolling his shoulders and wiggling in the recliner to bring it into more of an upright position. When he did so, he looked over at me and blinked to see me watching him so intently.

"Hey, honey, what's up?" he asked.

"Nothing," I answered as lightly as I could.

He cocked his head dubiously at me, but didn't press. Instead, he moved over in the recliner and beckoned for me to join him, leaning to put the papers on the end table. Once I got settled, he tilted slightly towards me and took me into his arms, his right arm wrapped around beneath me and his left hand caressing my face.

"Kids asleep?"

"Finally."

"Good." He kissed me tenderly, the kisses quickly increasing in pressure and passion. I brought my hand up to stroke his cheek and I kept it there when we broke apart.

"Baby, if something was bothering you, you'd tell me, right?"

He laughed dismissively. "You think something's bothering me?"

"Is there?" I insisted.

"Besides the fact that I can't kiss you when you're talking?" he asked, leaning in to do just that. I put a hand on his chest to stop him and gestured at the end table.

"How about that?"

Al turned to look at the squat glass I was pointing to. Less than an inch of amber liquid remained.

He frowned. "I had a rough day."

I pressed my lips together. "You've been having a lot of 'rough days' lately, hon. Don't you think maybe you should cut back a bit?"

"Beth," said Al, "since when do you have a problem with me having an occasional drink?"

My mouth twisted and I lifted one eyebrow before answering. "It's just that those occasions seem to be a lot closer together than they used to."

An annoyed breath exploded out of Al's nose. "What are you insinuating?"

I got out of the chair and walked over to the liquor cabinet, reaching in and coming up with two half-empty bottles. I set them on top of the cabinet and looked meaningfully at them.

"I bought these for Commander Levinson's New Year's Party, remember? I tucked them in here when we ended up not going because the sitter cancelled. They're both already half gone."

Al's eyes narrowed and he sarcastically said, "I didn't know they weren't to be touched. I figured since my money paid for them, I should get to use them."

"That isn't even the point. And I didn't know my staying home with the girls was such an issue for you that you were keeping track of whose money was whose," I shot back.

"Yeah, well at least you get to spend time with them," he muttered. Grabbing the stack of papers with one hand, and defiantly snatching the glass with the other, Al shot me a dirty look and stalked into the den, pulling the pocket doors closed behind him.

I sighed and put the accusing bottles back inside the liquor cabinet.

* * *

"Mommy?"

I rubbed my eyes and tried to come awake. Michele touched my arm and said again, "Mommy?"

"What is it, precious?" I asked around a yawn.

"There's a monster in my closet."

I sighed. "Honey, I promise you, there's no monster in your closet."

"There is! I heard him sniffing."

"Okay, shhh, before you wake up Daddy. I'll come check."

As I fumbled for my slippers Michele said, "I won't wake him up. Daddy's not sleeping."

"He's not? Al, are you awake?" I turned to touch his arm but he wasn't in bed.

"Come on, Mommy," Michele whined, tugging at my nightgown. "I'm scared! Can't I just sleep with you?"

"No, honey. Big girls sleep in their own beds. I'll show you there's no monster and then you'll be able to sleep just fine."

I led the way to her room and dutifully shone the flashlight in all the nooks and crannies of the closet. "See?" I yawned. "No monsters. Now climb back in bed and get some sleep, baby."

She did, reluctantly. I tucked her in and kissed her goodnight then eased out of her room and started back towards our bedroom. I'd taken two steps when a thought occurred to me and I silently made my way downstairs.

I heard a soft clinking sound and the quiet splashing gurgle of a liquid. My stomach twisted and I eased my way toward the living room. Al was standing before the liquor cabinet, his back to me as he set a bottle down and lifted a glass to his lips. There was an urgency to his movements that unnerved me as he tilted his head back and swallowed the contents of the glass in one continuous guzzle.

Frowning, I closed my eyes and shook my head. Before he could catch sight of me I backed towards the staircase, sitting down on the bottom step and resting my head in my hands. It seemed pointless to attempt a discussion at this hour, especially when it would probably only turn into an argument that would wake the kids. Letting out a soft pained sigh, I rose and took a step toward the living room again, thinking maybe I'd just go to him with an embrace, lead him back to bed. Glass clinked against glass, more roughly this time, and something stopped me. Sadly, I climbed the stairs and crawled back into our empty bed.

I laid there for what seemed like an hour but was really more like a half. Finally, Al came back to bed, dropping flat on his back. He lifted a hand to gently brush his knuckles against my cheek, unaware that I wasn't sleeping. I heard the rustle as he chafed his hands against his face after that, quietly muttering to himself, "It was only a dream. It was only a dream."

I bit my lip and remained still and quiet until Al fell into an uneasy sleep. It was a long time before I could do the same.


	29. Saturday, March 20, 1982

**Saturday, March 20, 1982**

"Grace, no! No! Did you hear me? I said **no!**"

Grace's outraged scream and shrill crying followed a loud smack. Theresa looked up from her art project, stunned.

"Stay put, honey," I told her, jumping to my feet and rushing into the living room. Grace was hugging her left hand to her chest as she wailed loudly. "What happened?"

Grace bawled, "Want water." She pointed at the tumbler Al held out of her reach. "Me fursty!"

"She just grabbed the glass off the coffee table," Al said. "I turned my back for two seconds and there she was."

"Good Lord, Al, she doesn't know any better. What harm would it do you to let her have a sip of…" I trailed off as realization dawned in the form of Al's angry face tinged with fear. My nostrils flared and I strode to him, jerking the glass out of his hand. I lifted it to my nose and sniffed the burning fumes of gin.

"Me fursty!" Grace whined as she stretched for the glass and stamped her feet.

"I want you to use your sippy cup, Grace," I said, angrily thrusting the glass back at Al. It took every ounce of self-control to keep from flinging the liquid in his face. I glared at him and then bent to pick up Grace. I hurried into the kitchen and fixed my youngest a sippy cup filled with water.

"Here you go, baby," I told her as I handed her the cup. She grabbed it and began eagerly guzzling the water. "I guess you were thirsty, honey!"

"Aaahhh," she sighed as she removed the spout from her mouth. "Sank you, Mommy."

I carried her from the kitchen to the short hallway separating the den and living room. When I reached the entrance to the den, Al approached me contritely.

"Beth, I'm sorry. I—"

I gave him a hateful look and put Grace down inside the den. "I don't want to hear it right now," I told him before closing the pocket doors and shutting out his pained expression.

* * *

As if by mutual agreement, Al and I avoided each other for the rest of the afternoon. When Grace started to go into the living room, I deflected her upstairs with her sister, urging Theresa to play games with her. Theresa gave me a worried look, but complied.

I went into the kitchen and sighed as I yanked the pantry door open. Not in the mood to deal with cooking, I closed it again and picked up the phone to order a pizza. Al stood in the doorway when I hung up the phone.

"Pizza, huh?" he said.

"Don't start with me."

He spread his hands palm out and protested, "I didn't say anything!"

I turned away to put the phone book back and Al came closer to me. "Beth, about this afternoon, I'm sorry."

He reached for my hand and I pulled it away. "The middle of the day, Al!"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I'm glad you can say the words." I folded my arms as I slowly faced him.

Al's lips tightened and one eye narrowed. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Your drinking is getting out of hand, Al. I want you to do more than just apologize; I want you to cut back! Big time!"

He let out a bitter laugh. "I wish it was that easy."

"Why isn't it?"

He waved a dismissive hand and sighed, "You wouldn't understand." He started to leave.

"Don't turn your back on me," I warned.

Sighing again, he stopped and faced me. "Grace almost drank my gin today. I know that. Why do you think I smacked her hand?"

"So the solution is to teach our two-year-old not to pick up other people's glasses when she's thirsty." Sarcasm dripped from my words.

"What do you want me to say, Beth?"

"I want you to say you're going to quit drinking so much!"

Al stared at me then rubbed a hand across his face and sighed. "All right, fine. I won't drink during the day anymore."

I closed my eyes and sighed. _During the day, he says. _Opening them, I shrugged. "That's not the answer I was hoping for, but it's better than nothing."

"Thanks for the support," snapped Al. "Thanks a lot!" He glared at me and then barreled out the door to the backyard. He threw open the door to the shed and stalked inside of it, emerging with the lawnmower. As soon as Star saw his mortal enemy, he dashed over and began barking at the red machine. Al stripped his shirt off and swatted the dog away before pulling the cord to start the motor.

I opened the door and stepped onto the patio. "Al, the pizza's going to be here soon."

"Let it come," he growled as the motor came to life. He threw his shirt onto the patio and started cutting the grass.

I stayed on the patio for a long time, watching him as he took his frustration out by pushing the lawnmower up and down our yard. I saw the bunching in his muscles, the sweat glistening on his tense body. Each time he turned past the patio, he cut a dirty look at me and finally I retreated inside.

Frustrated, I smacked the counter before resting my hands against it and hanging my head down. Al and I seemed to argue all the time now. Usually about his drinking, but lately anything seemed to be a bone of contention between us.

"Dammit!" I whispered, hitting the counter again. I turned around, leaning against it, and folded my arms against my chest as I let out a discouraged sigh.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" Theresa asked, peeking around the doorway.

"Nothing," I lied, forcing a smile to my face. "Where's Grace?"

"She fell asleep on my floor. I covered her with my blankie." Theresa came closer and reached to hug me. "You look sad, Mommy."

"Mommy's just tired, baby girl." I kissed the top of her head. "Don't worry, okay?"

She studied my face and hesitantly said, "Okay." She craned her head at the sound of the lawnmower and asked, "Why is Daddy cutting the grass again?"

"Again?"

Theresa nodded, "He just cut it yesterday, don't you 'member?"

"Oh, you know, it's that time of year, it just grows so fast. Just like you girls." I tickled her under her chin and kissed her cheek.

She remained serious though and moved away to stand by the glass storm door, watching her father attack the grass. After he made several cycles, Theresa turned to face me. "Mommy, is Daddy upset?"

"Why do you ask?" I deflected.

"He looks mad."

I looked out the window and Al did indeed look angry. Trying to ease Theresa's worry, though, I fibbed, "He's concentrating, Resa. The lawnmower's pretty heavy. It's hard to push it around the yard."

She gave me a doubting look, but moved away from the door. Theresa sat down at the table and sighed, resting her chin on her fists. "You're fighting again."

I sat at the table and took her hands in mine. "Disagreeing, Resa."

"I don't care, I don't like it," she said, dropping her head to rest it on her arm.

"Oh, baby." I stroked her head.

Thick tears formed in her eyes and slowly trailed down her cheeks. "Don't fight with Daddy anymore, please, Mommy."

"Honey, we're not—"

"Yes, you are!" She picked her head up and looked at me straight on. "If Sheli was home she'd say so, too."

I rubbed my forehead and tucked my hair behind my ears. "Theresa, Daddy and I are just having a disagreement."

"About what?"

I chewed my lip and finally opted to say, "It's grown up stuff, honey. It would bore you."

Theresa turned towards the backyard and then faced me again. "I wish you would make up."

Giving her a gentle smile, I bent forward and kissed her. I didn't say anything but I was wishing the same thing.

* * *

Al busied himself duplicating yard work from yesterday evening and didn't come inside to join us for dinner. I put the leftover slices of pizza on a plate and set it in the oven to keep it warm until he came in. The twins were spending the night at their friend's house, so Theresa and Grace had my full attention. After their bath, we watched TV in the living room together, all three of us on the sofa, one girl on each side of me. Before long, Grace drifted off to sleep, her head pressed against me.

I heard Al finally come inside. He'd obviously found the note I left, because I heard paper crumple then the oven door creak open. Beside me, Theresa tensed when Al yelped and cursed and then we heard a drawer yanked open and slammed shut again. Apparently he'd reached for the plate without an oven mitt and burned his hand.

Neither of us could keep our attention on the show anymore, and the laugh track seemed to mock us. Wide-eyed, Theresa stared up at me, shaking a little and snuggling closer. I wrapped my arm tighter around her and bent to kiss her forehead.

"It's okay, baby girl."

As soon as my lips touched her skin she burst into tears.

"Oh, honey, what's wrong?"

Unable to speak, Theresa just shook her head as she sobbed uncontrollably. Al came into the room to see what was going on, and as soon as Theresa saw him, she jumped up and ran to him. Throwing her arms around his legs, she bawled, "Don't be mad, Daddy. Please make up with Mommy." She turned her face towards his, her round eyes pleading. "Please."

Al knelt and hugged her. He kissed her cheeks and softly said, "Don't cry, honey."

"I don't like it when you and Mommy fight," she wept.

"I know, munchkin. I don't like it either." He lifted his eyes to meet mine. I looked away first, still angry about this afternoon. Al sighed and returned his attention to Theresa. "You know I love you very much, don't you?"

"A bushel and a peck," she hesitantly said, referring to the song Al often serenaded her with.

Al nodded. "A bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck," he said, duplicating his words in action. Theresa buried her face in his shoulder. "Nothing can ever change how much I love you."

"Or Mommy?"

"Or Mommy," he agreed. He sought my eyes again as he stood with Theresa in his arms. _"I'm sorry,"_ he mouthed.

I wearily nodded but didn't speak. This wasn't the first apology he'd made regarding his drinking. It was just another in a long string that seemed to have no end in sight. Maybe he would cut back, but the haggardness around his eyes made me doubt it. While sporadic nightmares had been a part of our lives since he'd come back, their frequency hadn't been anywhere near to what they currently were. Al had gone nearly two years without a nightmare before this.

What worried me almost as much as his excessive drinking was the fact that his nightmares were no longer relegated to sleep. For the last few days, the smallest things seemed to trigger memories of the prison camps—thankfully our half-Vietnamese daughter wasn't one of them. Rather it was sounds or smells that brought about troubled thoughts during the day, and my heart broke for what Al was going through, but I couldn't cope with how he was choosing to deal with it.

"Tell Mommy you love her," directed Theresa in an urgent voice. She looked intently into her father's eyes then turned towards me, her wounded expression imploring me to do the same.

Al kissed Theresa's nose and rubbed her slender back. He took a step closer to the couch and said, "Beth, I love you."

It was easier to respond to that than his apologies. Giving him a weak smile I echoed, "I love you, too."

Theresa relaxed slightly, but still looked from Al's face to mine and I got the distinct sense that she picked up on our residual tension with each other. Reluctantly, I asked Al if he wanted to watch TV with us, indicating the spot Theresa had vacated.

Al hesitated and said, "I need to take a shower."

"No you don't!" cried Theresa, burying her face in his neck. "You can do that later," she added, her voice muffled as she clung to him.

"Okay," he relented. He approached the sofa and sat down next to me. I detected the scent of beer on his breath and I felt my body stiffen even though I tried my hardest not to react. _He's always had a beer after he does yard work,_ I reminded myself. _Even before Vietnam. You're being unreasonable on this one._ In the next moment, I thought, _Am I?_

I waged an internal war with myself and felt my lips constrict as I did so. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that Al had noticed. His expression had slightly tightened and the air in the inch or so of space between us practically tingled with mutual irritation we could feel.

Afraid of upsetting Theresa again when she had just calmed down, I scooped up Grace's sleeping form and stood. I announced that I was bringing her upstairs to bed then fled up the stairs.

Grace didn't stir as I put her in her toddler bed and settled the sheets over her. Not wanting to go downstairs again and not wanting to do much of anything, I lowered myself to the floor and watched her sleep. Her little chest rose and fell beneath the covers. She exhaled a tiny sigh and the small smile that I loved curved her full lips. I thought about how she'd almost consumed Al's drink and tears stung my eyes.

"But you're all right," I whispered. I leaned forward and softly caressed her cheek. "I love you, Grace Shae."

I watched her for another couple of minutes then got up and went into our bedroom.

The framed photograph of Al and me displayed on our dresser taunted me. Rob's girlfriend, Angie, a professional photographer, had taken it the last time we'd gone to visit my parents. I was sitting on the ground, one knee drawn up to my chest. Al knelt behind me, his arms embracing me while his cheek pressed against mine. My hands covered his forearm. We smiled as if we had won the lottery, as if life couldn't possibly grant us more happiness than we had at that moment.

"The higher you climb, the farther you fall," I lamented aloud. I knew neither of us had worn a smile similar to the photograph for well over a month. Sadness pricked its cold thorn at me, and to shake it off, I went into the bathroom and started a hot shower.

I luxuriated in the steam and the pounding water. The glass walls of the shower cubicle fogged so thickly that I couldn't see out of them and when I ran a hand at eye level to clear it the steam immediately fogged it over again. I must have showered for almost an hour when the cubicle door opened and Al stepped in to join me.

I turned away from his naked body and tried to rinse off as quick as I could. I edged around him to reach the door but he held my shoulders from behind. Freezing in my tracks, I stood there as he kissed the back of my neck and slowly brought his hands around.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against my skin. "I'll change. I promise I will." He kissed me again and I could feel my body responding to his touch, urging me to give in against my will.

I shook my head and reached up to remove his hands. "Al, sex can't fix this one."

Undeterred, Al settled for wrapping his arms around my waist and spooning against me. I could feel his arousal as he continued to kiss my neck. "You know Theresa wants us to make up." His right hand began to slide slowly down my stomach.

"Al, stop." He didn't. "I said stop!"

His hand was gone in an instant and he released me, taking a step back into the shower spray. "I don't understand."

"I think you do. I think you understand full well. I appreciate that you're sorry, but you can't expect sex to go along with an apology all the time." I opened the shower door and stepped out, grabbing my towel and wrapping it around me. I didn't even stop to dry off. Dripping, I walked into our bedroom and sat on the foot of the bed.

I heard Al shut off the water followed by rustling. He must have been drying himself, because he came in wearing a towel around his waist and his hair showed signs of having been towel-dried. His jaw set, he moved to the dresser and quickly got into a pair of boxers, then his pajamas. I cringed at the hardness to his expression as he stalked past me to grab his pillow.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Giving you what you want. You mind getting off that blanket?" He tugged at the folded blanket beneath me. As I rose, he muttered, "Got it all damp."

"What do you mean you're giving me what I want?"

He glared at me. "I wouldn't want to upset you by getting too close to you in bed tonight."

"Al, that's not what I…"

"I really don't care," he coldly interrupted. Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.

I followed, even though I still wore only the towel and beads of water continued to roll down my skin. He practically stomped down the stairs, his bare feet thumping as loudly as if he had on work boots. When he reached the bottom floor, he turned to the living room and stormed in. He threw the pillow viciously at the arm of the sofa.

"Al, listen to me, please, honey."

Sitting down hard on the couch, Al growled, "Don't 'honey' me right now, Beth. You've made it perfectly clear how you really feel. Just leave me alone." He was horizontal and covering himself with the blanket in no time at all.

Heat bubbled up within me and I found my hand grabbing the blanket and yanking it back before I quite knew what I was doing. My eyes narrowed as I hissed, "Don't try to turn this into _my_ fault!"

Al didn't even bother sitting up. "Oh, that's right. Must've been someone else in the shower because it obviously wasn't you." He snatched the blanket out of my hand and covered himself up again.

"You're such a child, Albert. Pouting because you can't get your way."

If it was possible, his angry expression hardened even more, any hints of hurt vanishing. "Whatever you say, Elizabeth, since you obviously know everything." He turned away, rolling so that he faced the back of the sofa and pulled the blanket up to his ear. Tension radiated from his body.

It radiated from mine as well. I wanted to shake him and I gritted my teeth to hold back a frustrated squeal. I stood there, seething as I stared at the curve of his shoulders under the blanket, until the clock chimed the hour. The tenth _bong_ faded into silence and still neither of us had budged.

Finally, I turned away. My steps were slow and even until I reached the stairs and started to climb. By the time I reached the landing, hot anger had burned completely into infuriation. How dare he act as if he was the injured party?

The only thing that kept me from slamming the door was my fear of waking the girls. I did find myself taking harder steps than necessary as I finally dried the final bits of water and changed into underwear and the nightshirt that Al absolutely hated. Quarter-sleeved, shapeless, and made of tatty flannel covered with green stripes and tiny tea roses, it nearly came to my ankles. Al said it made him feel like he was sleeping with someone's grandmother whenever I wore it, which wasn't often. I wasn't that fond of it myself and just hadn't gotten around to getting rid of it. Now I put it on out of spite.

Folding my arms, I couldn't help but rub the material and I sighed as I stomped my way to the bed. I threw the covers back and climbed in, settling down and telling myself I wasn't lonely as I turned my back to Al's empty side of the bed. It didn't work. Even in the midst of my anger, I missed his presence.


	30. Tuesday, April 6, 1982

**Tuesday, April 6, 1982**

Al fumbled to get his keys out of the lock and staggered inside. He closed and locked the door behind him and shuffled into the den. I looked up from the magazine in my lap; my mind unable to focus, I'd been on the same article for almost an hour.

"Where have you been?" I demanded. The kids were in bed, it was well after eight o'clock, and he'd finally shown up.

"Meeting ran late," he said as he entered the living room, a surly tone to his voice.

I folded my arms and frowned. "And where was this meeting held at, hmm? The Pyramid Lounge, or was it the Fountain this time?"

"I dunno wha' you're talking about."

I pushed the magazine out of my lap and stood. "Don't lie to me, Al! You've been out drinking again, haven't you?"

He shrugged and crossed to our liquor cabinet, unlocking it and withdrawing a bottle. I walked over and snatched the bourbon out of his hands.

"No, that's enough for tonight." I returned it to the cabinet and slammed the door shut.

Al glared at me and belligerently said, "You're not the boss of me."

"That's real mature, Al." I rolled my eyes and stalked upstairs, disgusted by his behavior. He followed me into our bedroom.

"Ohhh, Beth, I like the way you think," Al leered, the words slurring. He indicated the bed and walked towards me, a slight list to his gait.

I took a step back from him; the scent of alcohol on his breath was so strong it practically intoxicated me. His bloodshot eyes narrowed and he grabbed my shoulders, pulling me to him and roughly kissing me. I put my hands on his chest and shoved him away.

"Al, you're drunk. Stop it."

"How many times did you push Dirk away?"

I stared at him, blindsided by such an absurd accusation. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Oh, c'mon, Beth…don't play stupid with me." He staggered closer, a cold fire burning in his eyes that told me he was saying something that had occupied his mind for…months. Ever since Dirk Simon came to our table at my birthday dinner. "You were seeing him while I was gone."

"I ran into him twice…I had lunch with him. That was it!"

"And you brought him back to our house!"

I pressed my lips together and turned away from him. "I'm not going to discuss this with you while you're drunk."

"And what about that cop? Whassisname…Jake. What about him?" He came closer to me, and I pulled my arms in to myself, shivering. The clarity of the details he threw at me confirmed that he'd stewed over them continuously since January. "Even Dirk was jealous of him…I could tell. Even after all those years…" He gave me a hard look. "You brought _him_ to our house, too."

"Stop it," I said, whirling on him. "I thought you were dead! I'm sorry, but I did…especially after that Marine kid died. You were M.I.A., and after two years of _nothing_ I thought you were dead! How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"And you must've been so lonely," mocked Al. "Free to come and go, and to see other men—while I was alone in the jungle, penned up like an animal—thinking of _you_ all the time! So tell me, Beth…did you even spare a thought for me while you were screwing them?"

I slapped his face so hard his head whipped to the side.

"Don't you _ever_ speak to me that way again!" I stood there, breathing hard and shaking. My hand throbbed. "How dare you question my devotion to you? Accusing me of cheating on you! Is that really what you think of me?"

Al pressed a hand to his cheek, feeling the large red welt forming. His mouth dropped open and I didn't know if he was more shocked by the slap or by the accusation he'd made. I stared at him, this angry drunk who'd taken the place of the man I loved. Too many nights he'd come home this way. Too many times had I found him pouring yet another glass of bourbon, vodka, gin, or scotch. I couldn't take it anymore.

Storming to the closet, I started grabbing handfuls of my clothes and piling them on the bed. I yanked a suitcase from the back of the closet and tossed it onto the bed, recklessly throwing the clothes into it.

Al seized my wrist as he cried, "What are you doing?"

"Get your hands off me!"

He released my hand and watched me, horrified, as I went next to the dresser and brought an armload of lingerie to the suitcase. I slammed the lid down and fumbled with the latches as I tried to close it.

"Are you leaving me?" he asked in a subdued voice.

I got the last latch affixed and raised my head to look at him. "That's up to you, isn't it?" I returned to the closet and dragged out a second suitcase, larger than the first. "I'm taking the girls to my parents' for a while. When we come back all depends on when you decide we're more important to you than the booze."

"You are!"

"Prove it to me, then." I stopped in the middle of the room, three nightgowns and a pair of pajamas trailing out of my arms. He looked helplessly from me to the suitcases on the bed.

"I….."

Shaking my head, I resumed my path to the bed and dumped the nightclothes into the second case.

"Beth…I love you!"

"You haven't acted like you do for a while now."

I crossed to the opposite side of the room, where the laundry basket was. I hadn't sorted out the girls' underwear and socks yet, so I just carried the whole basket to the suitcase and upended it.

"Beth, no. Don't do this."

"I don't know how else to get through to you!" I threw the empty laundry basket to the floor. "My God, Al, even the girls have noticed something's wrong!"

Al dropped to his knees and grabbed my hips. He pressed his forehead against my stomach for a moment then looked up at me and pleaded, "I'm sorry. Beth, I'm sorry! Don't take the girls away. Don't leave me!"

Closing my eyes and fighting not to cry, I disengaged his hands and took three careful steps away from him. "I don't want to, Al. But I honestly don't know who you are anymore."

He hung his head and buried his face in his hands. I stepped around him and left our bedroom, collecting clothes and nightgowns from our children's closets and dressers. Because I didn't want to wake them up yet, I had to operate only from their nightlights, so there was truly no telling what the outfits I'd gathered looked like. I returned to our bedroom, laden down.

Al hadn't moved, but he looked up and tracked my movements as I carried the girls' clothes to the suitcase and dropped them into it.

"It's late," he protested. "Wait til morning."

"Al, I love you, but I can't stay here one minute longer."

"Wait til morning. _I'll_ leave…I'll stay at a motel tonight."

"You'll do no such thing, Albert Calavicci! You're drunk! There's no way you're getting behind the wheel."

He sighed and got to his feet. I kept a wary eye on him, confident he wouldn't do anything to hurt the girls, or me, but I was still cautious. The accusation he'd flung at me continued to sting as much as my palm did from slapping him. His left cheek, meanwhile, still bore the mark of my hand on it. Deflated, Al sat on the bed.

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

"Not tonight."

He cupped his hand over his mouth and shakily exhaled. "I'm sorry, honey. Please…."

I held my hand up and shook my head, "I can't deal with this right now, Al. I can't take any more of your excuses and false promises." I paused, blinking away tears as I sighed. "I'm going to wake the girls up now. You can tell them goodbye."

He covered his face with his hands and dissolved into quiet sobs. Clenching my jaw to steel my resolve, I left the room and went to wake the twins first. I turned on the overhead light and moved to Bridget's bed.

"Bridget…wake up, baby."

She groaned and squinted up at me. "Mommy?"

"Sweetie, we're going on a trip to see Nana and Papa."

"Now?" she yawned.

"Yes. Get up and get dressed, honey."

"Okay," she mumbled. Confused, she ambled to the closet and pulled down an orange shirt and bright blue pants. While she dressed, I woke her sister. Michele rubbed her eyes and moved zombie-like to the closet, where she sleepily chose a striped blouse and flowered pants.

Leaving the twins to get ready, I headed into Theresa's room. It took four tries to get Theresa awake, and she wasn't much better than the twins in the alertness department. Still, I had three girls up and moving. Grace was the only one left, but at two years of age, I couldn't expect her to dress herself. I just prayed that she would be too sleepy for a battle of _"Me do it!"_

Al stood in our doorway as I left Theresa's bedroom, watching me with eyes now as angry as they'd previously been sorrowful. "Don't do this, Beth," he said.

"I don't have a choice. I told you, Al, I don't know how else to get through to you."

"Taking my kids away from me is the answer, huh?" His mouth tightened into a hard line and he moved forward.

"It's the only answer I have right now."

He stood in front of Grace's doorway now, his hands on either side of the jamb to block me. "Don't," he said again. His body was stiff, tense, and ready to fight as he stared me down.

I glared back at him and firmly said, "Albert, move."

"And you say you love me," he scorned, a snarl on his face. My stomach lurched as I watched him storm downstairs.

I sighed, swallowed my tears, and went in to wake Grace.

"Nana?" Grace asked, her face lighting up as I gave her the same explanation I'd given her older sisters. She clambered out of bed and thankfully let me dress her in a purple shirt with matching corduroys.

I sent the girls downstairs and went into the bedroom to retrieve the bags. A melancholy breath escaped me as I grabbed the suitcases and staggered downstairs with them. The girls waited sleepily but expectantly at the front door—and there was no sign of Al. I swore under my breath and then yelled, "Al! We're leaving!"

He emerged from the dining room, ice tinkling in a glass of amber liquid. I frowned at him.

"What are you doing with that?"

"Drinking it. What does it look like?" he snapped. "What the hell did you expect, when you tell me you're leaving me?"

"We're all going to visit Nana and Papa," Michele said, brightly. "We're not leaving you, Daddy."

Al laughed harshly and coldly. "Is that all you told them, Beth?" He turned to the girls. "Didn't Mommy tell you that Daddy's not going on this trip? She's leaving me here. By myself. I'm not going with you."

"Cut it out!" I said, furious at his manipulation. "Don't do this to them!"

"Daddy's not going?" asked Bridget, growing more awake by the moment. "Why not?"

"Mommy doesn't want to be around me right now," he said, glaring at me.

"And this is exactly why," I shot back, gesturing at the squat tumbler he held. "Look at you! I asked you to think about what was more important to you—and I can clearly see you've decided it's not us!"

Al looked at the glass and abruptly put it down on the foyer table. "Oh God," he said, all color draining from his face.

"Come on, girls. Tell Daddy goodbye."

"Beth…"

"Please don't make this harder than it is, Al," I said, my voice hard as I fought to keep back the tears.

Al slowly nodded and dropped to one knee, opening his arms. He called Grace to him first. "Grace, I love you, sweetie."

She hugged him, not really understanding. "Love you," she said and smiled, sloppily kissing him on the lips. "Bye-bye, Daddy."

"Bye, munchkin," he choked out. It took him a long time to release her. When he did, he cleared his throat. "Resa, baby…come here."

She was already crying as she threw her arms around her father's neck. "Why can't you go, Daddy?" she wailed.

"It's just…not a good idea," he slowly answered. He hugged her close and kissed her. "I love you, Theresa."

"I love you, Daddy!"

"Michele?"

Michele closed her eyes and slowly walked to him. She didn't say anything, just wept silently as he embraced her, told her he loved her, and said goodbye. Michele nodded, and kissed him before breaking away and burying her face in my leg. I patted her back and sighed.

"Bridget, it's your turn, honey. Tell Daddy goodbye."

"I'm not going without Daddy!" Bridget shouted. She clung to Al and glared at me.

"Bree, tell him goodbye, honey. It's not forever."

"No!"

"You're coming with me, Bridget."

"No! I won't!"

"Just load the car, Beth. I'll make sure she goes with you," Al quietly said. He hugged Bridget tightly.

"Come on, girls."

I carried Grace outside, moving as quickly as I could with Michele clinging to my leg. Theresa followed, crying freely all the while. I settled the girls into the backseat of the station wagon then returned to the house to get the suitcases, which I tossed into the luggage area. Al had carried Bridget outside and stood in front of the house with her.

Gently, his voice catching, Al said, "You need to go with Mommy, Bree."

"NO! I wanna stay with you!" she shrieked.

"I know you do, baby. But I need you to go with Mommy. She needs you with her right now."

"I don't care! I want you, Daddy!"

Al looked helplessly at me. I closed my eyes for a moment, and then reached for Bridget. Al loosened his hold on her, and the two of us pried her arms away from him. She screamed and kicked, wailing for her Daddy. I pressed her small body close to mine.

"I'm sorry, Bree. I'm sorry. We'll come back to Daddy, I promise. He just needs some time to think about things."

"Nooooo!" she screamed. "We're leaving him behind! _Noooo! Daddy! **Daaaaaaaaaddddeeeeeeeeeeee!**_"

I dragged her flailing little body to the car and somehow got her inside. Her hysterics intensified Theresa's howling, and the two of them could be heard through the closed windows. Grace started crying for Al as well, and only Michele remained silent, her eyes wide and face pale.

Tears streamed openly from Al's eyes and he reached for me. I stiffly allowed him to hug me.

"I didn't want it to come to this, Al," I told him. My voice was steadier than I believed possible.

He didn't respond at first. "You're actually leaving me," he finally said, as if only now that the luggage and our daughters were in the car had the situation become a fact.

I nodded, tears spilling from my eyes. "It's up to you when—or whether—I come back."

Al rubbed his temples and took a shaky breath. "Oh, Beth…."

"Goodbye, Al." I knew if I didn't get in the car now, I never would. I closed the door and watched him through the windshield. My chest tightened and I found it hard to breathe. Behind me, Bridget screamed that she didn't want to leave her Daddy, Theresa and Grace sobbed, and Michele still sat in quiet shock. My hands trembled as I put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway. When I made it to the street, Al's shoulders started shaking.

I shifted into drive and headed down the street. I was certain Bridget's screaming had to have drawn neighbors to their windows if not outside, but I didn't look. After I passed Eileen's house, I checked the rearview mirror and saw only that Al had dropped to the grass. Crouched on all fours with his head resting on his forearms, he heaved sobs and his entire body quivered. Half a block later I couldn't see him anymore. When I reached the stop sign at the cross street three blocks away, I dropped my forehead against the steering wheel and sobbed.

* * *

It took several minutes for me to regain my composure enough to continue driving. I was torn up inside, hating the step I'd taken, fearing I'd acted more out of anger at Al accusing me of cheating on him than out of an attempt to shock him into straightening up. If I was completely honest with myself, it was a bit of both. 

The girls screamed and cried for their father for a half hour straight before either crying or wearing themselves out. Several times I had to hastily wipe my eyes before blurred vision could cause an accident. I knew they were too little to understand why we'd left, even if I tried explaining it to them, so I remained silent. I clenched the steering wheel as I continued along I-15, the radio providing company but no comfort. My soul pulled towards Al, and I wanted to break down and cry full body-wracking sobs every time I thought of him crouched in the front yard, driven to his knees by despair as the five most important people in his life drove away. That image came to mind with a regularity like Chinese water torture.

A small hand touched my arm somewhere along the way, and I took my attention briefly away from the nearly-empty interstate to see who it was. Michele's puffy face looked hopefully at me.

"Do you still love Daddy?"

I wished I wasn't driving, but I was too scared to pull to the side of the highway in the dark. I risked another glance behind me to look into her eyes.

"Yes, I do. Very much."

"Then why did we leave?"

"Sheli, this isn't going to make much sense to you right now. We left _because_ I love Daddy."

She thought about that for a long time, then put her head on my shoulder and squeezed my arm. "But you do love him, right?"

"Oh, yes, baby. With all my heart." I choked back tears and took one hand off the wheel to caress Michele's cheek. "Just like I love you."

She froze and I suddenly realized the implications of what I'd just said. Michele might think that she was in danger of being abandoned. I searched my mind, frantic for a way to clarify.

"Baby, you know how sometimes I have to punish you?"

"Yes," she said, hesitantly.

"Well, this is sort of a punishment for Daddy." Oh, God, it broke my heart to say it that way. "I want him to do what he's supposed to, and right now…" I trailed off.

"Is he being bad right now?" supplied Michele.

"Yes." _Just take a steak knife and ram it into my heart to finish me off, God. I hate this!_ "That's sort of what's happening. And until Daddy decides he's ready to do the right thing…we're going to stay with Nana and Papa."

"Oh." She still held on to me. "Do you miss Daddy?"

I took my eyes off the road long enough to assure her, "I started missing Daddy as soon as I got in the car." I had to turn back around, but I continued, "I love your Daddy so much I can't even begin to describe it. I know it hurts that we left him, but it's for the best, honey. He needs to be by himself right now to think about things." I sighed and signaled my intention to pass a slow motorist. "And I promise you, Michele, I'm praying that it won't take long for Daddy to see what he needs to do."

"Okay," she said in a tiny voice. She kissed my cheek. "I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too. Now sit back down and buckle up so you stay safe, okay, precious?"

"Okay." She withdrew, and I heard the click of her safety belt.

I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that Grace and Theresa had both fallen asleep. Bridget looked down at her hands, and Michele watched the cars pass by her window.

"Are you okay back there, Bridget?"

She looked up at me, her expression so remarkably and completely like Al that I caught my breath.

"You took me away from my Daddy," she said frigidly, before turning away to stare out the car window.

I bit my lip and blinked away tears, focusing on the road again. The radio provided the only sound in the car, unless you counted the slow, even breathing of Theresa and Grace or the occasional sniffles from the twins. I drove until fatigue started getting the better of me, and shortly around one in the morning, I pulled into a gas station outside of Las Vegas to fill up and get some coffee. I figured the girls probably needed to go to the bathroom, as well.

I looked in the window at them as I pumped gas, and saw that all four were fast asleep. I decided not to wake them. Surely if one of them had to go, they'd wake up and let me know. If not, well, I kept wipes in the glove box.

I filled the tank and grabbed my purse to go inside and pay. I looked around the station, uneasy about leaving the girls alone in the car. A semi at the far end at the diesel tanks was the only other vehicle. I made sure all the doors were locked and entered the convenience store, making a beeline for the coffeepot and filling the largest cup they had. I quickly paid and headed back to the car.

Fear gripped me when I saw a big man in a worn ball cap and flannel shirt looking in the windows of the station wagon. I clenched my keys and strode deliberately to him. "Can I help you?" I asked in a sharp voice.

The man's face visibly smoothed when he saw me. "I'm sorry if I frightened you, lady. I just wanted to make sure your kids were all right. My rig's over there and I saw you pull in." He studied my face, and then said, "Are _you_ all right?"

I took a sip of coffee and rubbed my forehead. "I will be. Thank you for your concern, but I really need to get back on the road."

"Oh, sure, sure, I understand," he said. "How far are you heading?"

"Kansas City." I had no idea why I answered him.

"Which one?"

_In for a penny, in for a pound._ "Missouri."

He looked at the California plates on the car and I could see him doing the math. "Left in a rush, didn't you? Do you need some help, ma'am?"

I didn't answer, sipping my coffee again and wishing he would go back to his truck.

"I know…none of my business," he said. He smiled at me. "I hope you're not planning on trying to make it straight through."

"Oh, no. I'll stop after a while."

"That coffee'll keep you going for a few more hours. If you can make it to Cedar City, Utah—that's a bit before I-15 meets up with I-70—there's a decent selection of motels."

"Thanks for the tip," I said warily.

Getting the clue, the driver tipped his ball cap at me before walking off. "Good luck to you, ma'am. God bless."

When he was more than halfway back to his truck, I got in the car and started driving northward again. A chill descended upon me as I contemplated what might have happened if the burly trucker hadn't wanted to help, but to harm. _Maybe I should call someone to let them know I'm on the road._ I looked at the digital clock on the dashboard's radio display and immediately discarded that idea. I knew I truly wouldn't be bothering those who cared about me if I made a call at this hour, but I couldn't justify to myself not only waking them, but also consigning them to hours of worry. I also didn't want to lose the time it would take to find a pay phone. Sighing, I pressed on, fortifying myself with coffee and keeping alert by watching for the signs notifying of the upcoming junction to I-70, which would carry me eastward and closer to my hometown.

Sniffling and hiccupping from behind alerted me to one of the girls having awakened. I scanned the rearview mirror to see Theresa's bright eyes shining back.

"Resa, what's wrong, baby?"

"Daddy…."

"Oh, sweetie. I know."

She cried harder and I wished I could reach to hug her. "I wanna see him," she sobbed.

"I know you do, baby…and you will. I promise you will."

"When?"

"That I don't know," I honestly answered.

"Why not?"

I sighed. "Baby, it's hard to explain. It's grown-up stuff, and it's kind of complicated."

"Resa, Daddy's being punished," Michele said, startling me. I hadn't realized she was awake as well. "But Mommy still loves him. She told me so."

Theresa hiccupped, "Is that true, Mommy?"

"Oh, yes, baby girl. Yes, it is. I love Daddy more than life itself."

"What about Star?"

My brows drew together as I tried to follow her train of thought. "What about him, honey?"

"Is he being punished, too?"

I thought for a few moments before the lightbulb went on. Of course. I hadn't even thought about the dog, and naturally she'd think that we left him behind to punish him as well. A frown pursed my lips as I suddenly realized I hadn't packed any toiletries for us, either. All we had were clothes.

Turning my mind back to Theresa's question, I thought quickly and then said, "No. He's looking after Daddy. And Daddy will take care of Star, honey, don't worry about that." I prayed I was right and that Al wouldn't get into such a stupor he neglected the dog.

"O-k-kay." Theresa's tears didn't stop, but their force lessened. "I still miss Daddy."

"I know, Theresa. So do I." _Oh, dear Lord, so do I._

* * *

Around 4 in the morning, I pulled into the driveway of a chain motel in Cedar City. I parked in front of the main lobby doors and grabbed my purse, hurrying inside. The desk clerk looked up in surprise from his newspaper, and removed a cigarette from his mouth. 

"Can I help you?" he asked lazily.

"My kids are asleep in the car—alone," I quickly prefaced. "I need a room."

He slowly reached for a form, and I rapped my fingers on the counter in annoyance. "Did you hear me? My kids are _alone_ outside."

"I need you to fill this out, ma'am." He slid the form to me.

Swearing under my breath, I quickly scrawled my information and thrust it back at him.

"Do you have a credit card?" He methodically laid the form into place in the credit card machine. Fumbling in my wallet while I craned my head to see the car through the windows, I grabbed the first card I felt and tossed it at the clerk.

"Can you hurry it up?" I demanded.

He looked up at me with the phone to his ear as he called for an authorization, and pulled the black bar across the form and card, imprinting the numbers on the carbon form. He handed my card back to me along with a key dangling a large plastic diamond bearing the chain's logo. "Room 1029. Drive around to the right."

I snatched the key from his hand, and barked a terse thanks before dashing out the door and back to my children. I breathed a sigh of relief that they were still asleep. The room was right around the corner and thankfully on the first floor. I pulled into the parking spot directly in front of the room and cut off the engine. Resting my head against the steering wheel I let out an aggrieved moan. I was wiped out, emotionally and physically drained.

I lifted my head and sucked in a desperate gulp of air before getting out of the car and opening the back door. Bridget and Theresa blinked and grimaced as the dome light gleamed starkly in their eyes.

"Come on out of the car, girls. We're stopping for the night."

They grumbled, but unfastened their seat belts and yawned. Theresa slid out first, since she was sitting in the foremost seat; Bridget was alone in the second rear seat. I lifted Grace into my arms, and then gently shook Michele awake. Finally, Bridget clambered out and slammed the car door behind her. I bit back an admonition and shook my head. As I unlocked the door to the room, I decided to forego nightclothes, too exhausted to deal with the luggage.

The clerk had given us a room with a king size bed, and I was unexpectedly relieved. There was no way we'd have all fit in one double bed, and I didn't want any of the girls sleeping in a bed alone tonight. We filed in the room and I switched on the lights and locked the door. The room was clean, decorated in shades of gold and green. I turned down the sheets on the bed and put Grace's sleeping form down, removing her shoes, socks, and corduroys. Bridget went to the bathroom, coming out as I put Grace's clothes on the closet shelf.

Kneeling in front of Theresa, I helped her out of her pants and shoes while I quietly asked the twins to do the same.

"I don't want to sleep in my clothes," complained Bridget. "I want a nightgown."

"I'm sorry, honey. I'm tired; it's four in the morning. It's just for a little while. Please help Mommy out, Bree."

She glared at me as she stepped out of her tennis shoes and unsnapped her pants. After she yanked off her socks and defiantly dropped everything to the floor, she retreated to the far side of the bed and turned her back on me, pulling the sheet to her shoulder.

Michele hugged me and kissed my cheek before going to the bathroom, as if her affection could counter her twin's coldness. I nudged Theresa before she crawled into bed. "I want you to go potty after Sheli's finished."

"I don't hafta go," she whined.

"Just try," I urged.

She let out a long-suffering sigh, and waited by the bathroom door, ducking in as soon as Michele emerged.

"Climb in bed, sweetie," I told Michele, putting their clothes up with Grace's. She complied, asking me if I was going to go to bed.

"In a little bit. I need to make a phone call first. You go ahead to sleep, baby."

She yawned and nodded, shifting over to make room for Theresa when her younger sister came back from the bathroom. I tucked all four of them in and brushed kisses across their cheeks, biting my lip after Bridget wiped the kiss off. Choking back a sob, I turned all the lights off except for the one by the bathroom, and then went in myself.

Afterwards, I quietly walked to the nightstand on the other side of the bed, picked up the phone and pulled it as far as the cord would go so I wouldn't disturb the girls. It nearly reached the table, so I dragged a chair closer and balanced the phone on my knees as I dialed my parents' number. I didn't feel as bad about calling now. My dad would be getting up soon if he hadn't already.

The phone rang three times, and then a sleepy voice answered. "Mmm, hello?"

"Dad?"

"Mmm-hmm…is this Janie or Beth?"

"It's Beth, Dad."

I heard a rustling as he apparently checked the time. He started to come more awake. "Why are you calling at this hour? It must be late for you. Honey, is something wrong?"

If I thought I could get through this conversation without breaking into tears, I'd been deluding myself. My voice cracked as I said, "I'm in Cedar City, Utah. I left Al." I abruptly burst into tears, startling myself and I knew I had to have just terrified my father.

"You left him? What happened? He didn't hit you, did he?"

"No, nothing like that," I quickly said. I knew now for sure I'd just scared him badly for him to instantly jump to that conclusion. He loved Al like a son. "Al would never hit me, Dad! He's never even raised a hand to me. It's…oh, God, Dad…I guess this has been coming for a couple months now. He's been having the nightmares again and he…" I paused and took a shaky breath. "He's dealing with them by drinking. I just…I just couldn't take it anymore. He's self-destructing, Dad." Sobs overwhelmed me again.

"Oh, Beth. No, Lillian, he didn't. She's not hurt."

"Maybe I should've called sooner, but can the girls and I stay with you for a while?"

"Of course you can, honey. You know you didn't even have to ask. When will you get here?"

"I don't know. I'm so tired…I've been on the road for 7 hours. I finally had to stop and get a room."

"Well, honey, you said you're in Utah? That should put you, oh, with at least 12 hours of driving ahead of you. Look, your Mom and I will keep the lights on for you tonight. You just get here when you can. Now get some sleep. Lillian, the girl needs her rest." An explosive sigh resounded from him. "Beth, she won't let me hang up unless she gets to talk to you."

I laughed through my tears. "Okay." More rustling as the phone changed hands. A flurry of whispers told me Dad was filling her in on what little I'd told him.

"Beth? Oh, God, Beth, honey, are you okay?"

"Yes, Mom. I'm just upset." I sighed. "Bridget hates me for leaving him."

"She doesn't understand, honey."

"I know." I let out a hollow laugh. "If you want to know the truth I hate myself a little bit right now."

"Now, Beth, you need to stop that."

"Oh, Mom. I love him!" I wept. "I just didn't know how else to get through to him. I can't watch him drink himself to death."

"Is it that bad?"

"No. I don't know. Maybe." Tears clogged my voice for a moment. "I'm sorry, I can't talk about this right now."

"Okay, Beth. It's all right. Get some sleep, honey. We love you."

"I love you, too."

I hung up and stretched to replace the phone on the nightstand. Then I drew my knees into my chest, hugging them to me and burying my face as I sobbed. Finally, I stood and took a ragged breath, kicking off my shoes, slipping out of my jeans, and reaching underneath my blouse to remove my brassiere so I'd sleep a bit more comfortably. I dropped my clothes into the chair and then crossed the room to the bathroom. The lone light I'd left on got switched off, then I got into bed with the girls. Rustling sounded and I felt the mattress shift as one of them got up from her current place and crawled across the foot of the bed. When she got to me, she touched my legs and felt her way up to the head of the bed like a blind person.

"Mommy?" It was Michele.

"Yes, honey," I whispered back.

"Will you hold me?"

I pulled her on top of me and hugged her close. "Of course, precious." I adjusted the sheets to cover us both.

She rubbed my earlobe until she fell asleep. Not long afterwards, I followed suit.


	31. Wednesday, April 7, 1982

**Wednesday, April 7, 1982**

I awoke with Michele still sprawled on top of me. During the night, Theresa had crawled over as well and pillowed her head on my shoulder. Grace had spooned herself against Theresa and stretched her arm over her sister to touch my elbow. Only Bridget remained in her original position, her back to me.

"Michele, baby, wake up," I said in a low voice. She groaned and pressed her face into my neck.

I shifted my arm and patted Theresa next, trying to wake her up as well. She yawned and sat up. Her movement jostled Grace, who stirred and opened her eyes.

"Hi, Mommy," she smiled.

"Hi, sweetie." I yawned and nudged Michele again. "Sheli, it's time to get up."

Michele hugged me tightly before reluctantly climbing off of me and out of bed. I sat up and embraced Theresa and then Grace before getting up as well. Bridget still hadn't turned. I reached to gently shake her shoulder. "Bree, come on, honey. We're going to get a bite to eat and then hit the road again."

She stiffened and rolled her arm out of my grasp. Without uttering a sound, Bridget moved robotically to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I sighed and turned to her sisters.

"Let's get dressed, and then everyone go to the bathroom before we go to the lobby for breakfast."

Although I would have preferred fresh clothes for us all, I was glad that all we had to do was pull on socks and pants and deal with shoes. The girls amiably took turns using the bathroom. I washed faces and then we filed out of the room to the car for the short ride to the front lot. After I parked and got out, I waited for the girls to join me. Last out of the car again, Bridget once more slammed the door.

I knew she was angry with me, and I needed to have a heart-to-heart with her, but we didn't have time. I had to get the girls fed and we needed to get on the road before it got much later. As it was, I had a full day of driving ahead of me.

We went into the lobby and worked our way through the short line for the complimentary breakfast. I had to take an extra couple of muffins from the serving tray after Grace poked holes in them because she was bored. Scooping her into my arms to keep her out of further mischief, I helped Theresa fix her plate. I put a Danish down for her, only to have her immediately put it back on the platter.

"I don't like those nuts."

I picked it up and put it on her plate again, sighing, "We'll scrape them off. You can't put things from your plate back on the tray."

"Why not?"

"You just can't, Theresa. Mommy says so." I grimaced apologetically at the couple behind me, who were watching and exchanging disapproving glances with each other. When Theresa started to put one of the muffins back, I took it instead.

"My muffin!" Grace said, stretching to grab it out of my other hand. She only got hold of the top of it and it disintegrated into a mess of crumbs as she tore at it.

"Mommy, I need help with my milk carton," Michele told me, nudging the cold cardboard container against my arm. Bridget had taken her plate into a corner, foregoing milk, and sulked as she picked at the cheese Danish she'd selected.

"Baby, I don't have a hand right now." I hefted Grace into a more secure position on my hip and indicated the demolished muffin in my right hand.

"Can I help?" An older woman shuffled toward me in orthopedic shoes. "You look overwhelmed, dear." She reached for Michele's milk carton. "I can open that for you, honey."

Michele looked uncertainly at me, and when I nodded, she passed the carton to the grandmotherly woman. Arthritic fingers slowly pried the flaps apart and handed the carton back to her. Michele smiled and put the straw in it.

"What do you say, Michele?" I prompted.

"Thank you." Michele smiled again and walked off to join her sister in the corner. Theresa had watched the exchange and shyly approached the woman, holding a milk carton. A broad smile split the woman's wrinkled face and she methodically opened Theresa's milk for her.

"Here you go, darling."

Theresa responded with a "thank you" without my having to remind her to. She noisily sucked milk through the straw as she carried her plate.

"You have beautiful children," the woman complimented me.

"Thank you."

She looked at the three girls in the corner and then at Grace in my arms. Light glinted off her bifocals as she tilted her head. "You've got your hands full, dear. Is your husband packing the car?"

Bridget had decided to get some milk and was walking past. She halted when she heard the question.

"My Daddy's not here. She made me leave him and go with her." Bridget's eyes shrank as she stared hatefully at me. "She leaved him behind and made him cry."

Blood rushed to my face. My eyes stung and my cheeks burned. Without saying another word, Bridget walked back to her place and sat down. I felt a thin hand touch my arm and my vision blurred with tears at the empathic contact.

"Grace, baby, go sit with your sisters, okay?" I managed to get out. I handed her the muffin and put her down. Grace toddled over to her sisters and sat down to eat her muffin.

"Is that true, sweetheart?" the old woman asked in a gentle voice. She still held my arm. "What your little girl said. Did you leave your husband?"

I put a hand to my mouth and nodded. The movement of my head caused tears to fall from my eyes. "I didn't want to," I softly said. My voice was thick. "Oh God." I began to cry in earnest.

"There, there," she soothed. She slowly turned me around so the girls wouldn't see me crying and walked towards the windows. "You must have had a good reason. It's obvious you love your husband." When I nodded and opened my mouth, she shook her head. "You don't need to tell me why, dear. We'll just stand here and look out the window until you've got your composure back." Her hand worked a reassuring path up and down my spine.

"My girls…"

"There's only one way in and out, dear. And my husband's keeping an eye on them." She indicated an elderly gentleman to our right who patiently smiled and waited, a mug of coffee in his hand. "Stanley was telling me when we walked in how much those girls remind him of our grandkids."

"Is that your husband's name? Stanley?"

She nodded. "Where are my manners? I'm Aggie."

"Beth," I said, shaking the hand she offered to me.

"It's nice to meet you, Beth. Here." Aggie gently pressed something soft into my hand. I looked down and saw a tissue. Giving her a weak smile, I dabbed at my eyes and nose.

"Thank you," I sniffed.

Aggie grinned. "Now what kind of Grandma would I be if I didn't have an abundance of tissues?" She rubbed my back again. "It's going to be okay, honey."

I rubbed my face and breathed out a rough exhale. "I hope so."

We stood in silence for a while. Gradually I was able to stem my tears. In the interim, Stanley had moved to a chair nearer the girls, his cane balanced against his leg. As soon as Grace finished with her muffin, she walked up to Stanley and put her hands on his knee.

"Hold Gracie?" she asked hopefully, now reaching up to him.

Stanley looked over at me for permission then lifted Grace onto his lap with the practiced ease of a grandfather. He touched a finger playfully to her nose. Grace smiled and giggled.

"Your husband's good with kids," I commented.

Aggie beamed and nodded. "You'd never dream he was opposed to having them when we got married."

An ironic laugh escaped me. "That was Al before Vietnam."

"Your husband?"

What little smile remained on my face now vanished as I nodded.

"He came home, though?"

"Yes, thank God. He was MIA—the VC had him for eight years."

Aggie gasped. "Oh, honey." She hesitated for a moment and then asked, "I don't mean to pry, but is he okay? I can't imagine what condition he must have been in."

"He was in bad shape when he came home," I affirmed. "Physically, he's fine now except for the scars. Emotionally…" Breaking off, I shrugged as my tears started again. "They don't make Band-Aids for bad memories."

Aggie took hold of my hand now. "Beth, dear, I don't know what's going on in your home, and it's none of my business. But I do know if he's dealing with what happened to him in Vietnam, then he needs you to do what's best for your family. If that means leaving him for a little bit, then you have to do it no matter how hard it hurts right now."

"It does hurt," I sobbed, pressing the fresh tissue Aggie gave me to my eyes. After I blew my nose I looked up to see Aggie holding a glass bottle of apple juice and a muffin.

"Here, honey, you need to take care of yourself. Stanley's watching your girls."

"I need to check out."

"Okay, then, dear, go settle your bill and then come sit next to me and have some breakfast."

I was glad to see the clerk was different than the man from last night. The young woman had to have seen everything that had gone on in the lobby but she didn't comment on anything, not even my reddened and puffy eyes. I authorized my card to be charged for the room and the long distance call last night and signed the paperwork. Finally done, I joined Aggie on the small couch she'd claimed.

"I must be keeping you and Stanley from something," I protested as she handed me the juice and muffin.

She waved my comment off with a breezy hand. "I'm just glad to be able to help you. I'd hope if it was my daughter in your shoes, someone would give her a helping hand."

"Thank you again," I told her, swallowing apple juice to shove down the lump in my throat.

"Where are you headed?"

I felt more comfortable answering her than I had the trucker last night. "To Kansas City—my parents' house."

"That's good. They'll take care of you. You be careful on that drive now."

"I will." I'd already polished off the muffin and now I finished the juice. I threw away the containers and returned to Aggie's side. She stood and reached to hug me.

"God bless you, Beth."

"And you, Miss Aggie. I can't tell you how much this has meant to me. You've been so kind to me."

She smiled. "It was my pleasure, honey. You get to your parents and let them look after you and your girls until you and Al are able to work things out."

"Thank you. I will."

I walked over to retrieve Grace from Stanley, thanking him for keeping an eye on the girls for me. He, as Aggie had, pressed my hand and wished me the best. He slowly got to his feet and joined his wife at the front desk.

I picked up the remnants of their breakfast and advised the girls to take extras for the road if they were still hungry, since we weren't going to stop until lunchtime. In addition to toiletries, I'd neglected to pack snacks, so hurried had I been to get on the road and away from Al's drunkenness.

As Al crossed my mind, I wondered how he was doing. Despite Aggie's encouragement, I wanted to cry as once again I was revisited by the image of him broken by despair, collapsed on the front lawn. Surely he'd have gone inside at some point…and then what? He might have downed the squat tumbler of alcohol awaiting him on the foyer table, trying to numb himself. Then again, the sight of the booze might have jarred him as a reminder of why we'd left. I just couldn't know.

I breathed a prayer for his safety, then ushered the girls to the car. It was a long haul to Missouri.

* * *

We'd been on the road for a couple of hours when Theresa's tears started up again. Michele did her best to comfort her little sister while I tried to convince her that everything would be fine. I hoped I spoke truth.

"How long is Daddy punished?" Theresa asked through her weeping.

"That's up to Daddy, honey."

"I miss him!"

"I do, too, baby girl."

Michele hugged her then, and kissed her cheek, whispering to her. I couldn't hear her, but Theresa nodded and kissed her back. Gradually, her tears stopped.

Grace, to this point, had appeared mostly unaffected by the previous night, crying only when we'd actually driven away from Al. I'd assumed she was too young to really understand what was happening, and perhaps she was. But as she heard Theresa crying and talking about missing Al, Grace's tears began and she just kept saying, "Daddy… miss Daddy."

I wished there was some way of magically transporting us immediately to my parents' house. There were hours to go before we even got halfway there. I wasn't sure any of us could endure it, and I fought back tears as I assured the girls yet again that I loved their father and missed him as much as they did.

We stopped for lunch at a McDonald's. When I asked the girls what they wanted, Bridget refused to speak to me and whispered her order to Michele, who apologetically parroted it to me. I knew we had to look a state—finger combing could only do so much—but the cashier didn't bat an eyelash.

Theresa selected a table at the rear of the restaurant, and we filed in the booth. I noticed a pay phone at the back near the restrooms. After I finished feeding Grace her McNuggets and had eaten half of my own meal, I got up while the other girls ate to check in with my parents. Keeping one eye on them, ready to dash over if someone started to choke, I updated my mother on our location.

"Oh, by the way, I forgot to pack toothbrushes, hairbrushes, and so on. I hate to ask, but do you think you could…"

"I'll have a whole spread of toiletries for you when you get here, Beth."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Beth…I've been debating whether or not to tell you this. Al called a few hours ago." She paused. "He sounded awful. I told him you hadn't arrived yet, but he insisted I was lying to him."

"He was probably drunk, Mom. I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"No, honey, that's exactly why I wasn't sure I should tell you. I don't want you to blame yourself; you did the right thing."

"It doesn't feel that way much."

"I know, Beth." She hesitated again. "I don't want to keep you from the girls, and I didn't want to upset you…you've got a very long drive ahead of you yet."

"No, it's okay. He's been on my mind."

"I'm sure he has been, honey."

I sighed. "I'd hoped our leaving would be a wake-up call."

"It's not that simple, Beth. You know that."

"I just wish it could be," I said, my eyes misting over. "I've got to go, Mom."

"Okay, honey. Drive safe."

I hung up and slowly walked back to the table. Grace nibbled on a fry and studied my face. I wiped my eyes and took a deep breath.

"Nana says 'Hi,'" I smiled when I sat down.

* * *

Bridget and Michele were whispering to each other, Michele having crawled into the far backseat with her twin. Theresa had cried herself to sleep about an hour ago. Grace softly sang the Alphabet Song over and over again to amuse herself.

The whispering gradually segued into normal voices, which steadily grew more and more heated, until the twins were screaming at each other.

"Then you don't love Daddy!"

"I do!" Michele was crying now.

"If you love Daddy, then you're mad at _her_! She tooked us from him!"

Their angry voices woke Theresa up, and Grace started crying. Theresa looked frightened.

"That's enough!" I shouted. "Bridget Louise, I've had about all I can take of your attitude, young lady." I stared at her in the rearview mirror for as long as I dared keep my eyes from the road.

She defiantly turned her head away to look out the window.

"I know you don't want to listen to me, but you have to understand something. I love your Daddy, Bridget. I love him so much I waited eight years for him to come back to me! You wouldn't be here otherwise." I shook my head, realizing I was speaking above a kindergartner's level. "Bree, I didn't leave because I wanted to, I left because I had to. I hate not being with Daddy. It tears me up inside." I glanced in the mirror again. She still looked out the window instead of at me, but twin streams of water trickled down her cheeks. "Honey, Daddy's going through a hard time and he doesn't know how to be a good daddy right now."

She whipped her head around and narrowed her eyes into little slits. "He _is_ a good daddy," she hissed.

"He's being bad," Michele quietly argued.

"How?" demanded Bridget.

Michele wept as she shrugged and admitted she didn't know.

"Bridget, they're grown-up problems."

"You left Daddy behind," she accused.

"I know I did! And I miss him terribly!" I started crying. Fatigue and stress had my emotions raw and far too near the surface.

"Then let's go back home," she reasoned.

My tears intensified. "I can't, honey. Not yet."

"Then you don't love Daddy." Bridget clamped her mouth shut, set her jaw, and turned away to look out the window again.

Her words cut me. I sobbed for the next seventy miles, incapable of soothing my children who were consumed by their own sorrows.

* * *

Sheer determination to make it to my parents was the only thing that got me through the drive. It was well into the wee hours when I finally pulled into their driveway, my biological engine running on fumes. I'd barely killed the motor when my parents came outside in their bathrobes and hurried to the car. I got out on shaky legs and collapsed into their embrace, weeping.

"It's okay, Beth," my mother assured me, stroking my head. "You're home."

_No, I'm not. Home is with Al._ I sobbed harder.

"Come inside, and get some sleep, honey," my father urged. He opened the car door and lifted Theresa and Grace out. I took Grace from him, and he passed Theresa to my mother. Both stayed asleep through the transition. He leaned in and folded the seat down so he could reach the twins, taking one in each arm. They awoke as he stood with them, and they blinked at him in astonishment.

"Papa?" Michele asked. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

Bridget seemed to temporarily forget her rage as she, too, greeted her grandfather with a hug and kiss. He smiled and kissed each of them, then lowered them to the ground.

"Run along inside so I can get the suitcases," he told them.

As soon as the word "suitcases" left his lips, Bridget's face hardened and she cast me an irritated look before obediently following her sister inside her grandparents' house.

"I see what you mean," Mom said in a low voice, rubbing the small of my back.

"She'll come around," Dad assured me, now carrying a suitcase in each hand.

I locked the car and followed them inside. Dad brought the suitcases upstairs and Mom and I followed, carrying Theresa and Grace to Janie's old room which, like all our rooms, had been converted to a modified guest room. Mom quickly found the nightgowns. She and Dad took charge of getting all four girls changed and in beds, while they sent me to my old room where I dazedly took off my clothes and got into a nightgown of my own.

My parents returned to find me turning in a slow circle in the middle of the room, not sure what to do next. Mom embraced me and guided me to the bed while Dad turned down the sheets. She eased me down and tucked me in.

Brushing my hair back, Mom kissed my forehead and said, "Go to sleep, honey."

I nodded and closed my eyes, a pair of tears racing to see which would reach my chin first. "I do love Al, you know. I love him!" I insisted.

"We know that, Bethy. No one's disputing that," soothed Dad.

"Bree does…" I murmured.

"She'll come around," he reminded me. "Now, you just get some sleep."

"Okay…"

I dreamed of Al.

**Author's Notes**: Thanks to L for suggesting some fleshing out at the motel lobby and assisting therein.


	32. Thursday, April 8, 1982

**Thursday, April 8, 1982**

Drained completely from two days of travel, I slept most of the day. When I got up and crossed the hall to the bathroom, the sounds of _Sesame Street_ coming from downstairs told me it was early afternoon even before the clock did. My parents had bathed the girls and washed their hair, then kept them entertained and quiet so I could rest. As soon as I'd awakened enough to rifle through the suitcase for my clothes, I'd showered and washed my hair. True to her word, Mom had gotten a new toothbrush for me, and I brushed my teeth twice as long as usual, wanting to get the grimy sensation from not having brushed since Tuesday out of my mouth. After I rinsed and spat for the final time, I ran my tongue over my teeth, relieved to have the fuzziness gone. I put on a fresh pair of pants and a brown sweater, then padded downstairs with my damp hair combed back.

The sight of my brother and his girlfriend in the family room surprised me. Rob greeted me with a strong embrace.

"It's about time you got up." He drew back and studied my face. Despite having slept and showered, my eyelids were puffy and swollen from hours of crying. "You look terrible."

"Rob! That's a horrible thing to say." Angie slapped his arm before she hugged me. It had been months since I'd seen her last. Not since Thanksgiving, when she'd insisted on taking family portraits of everyone as an early Christmas gift. "It's good to see you again, Beth."

"You too, Angie."

Rob shook his head and instantly went into big brother mode. "What did he do to make you cry so hard?"

"I don't want to talk about it right now," I said, gesturing at the girls playing in the next room.

"Well, you're better off without him, anyway."

Rob's attitude stung and I corrected him firmly. "I'm not divorcing him, Rob. This isn't even a separation, not in that sense anyway."

"What is it, then?"

I sighed. "I don't know. A wake-up call, I guess."

He snorted and Angie pinched him. "Cut it out, Rob," she hissed.

I stalked past him into the kitchen and poured a glass of water from the pitcher in the refrigerator. Rob followed me, Angie trailing behind him.

"What's he done?" he demanded again.

"Al's having some problems," I evaded.

"That doesn't surprise me. Let me guess…he's drinking."

I didn't answer, but my face gave it away. Rob's eyes widened.

"He is, isn't he? How much?"

A shaky hand raised the glass of water to my lips, but Rob gently pulled it down.

"Answer me, sis. How much?"

"He's drunk more often than not," I said, a sob breaking into my words.

Rob called Al names that would have had my mother sticking a bar of soap in his mouth if she heard him, even at his age. I narrowed my eyes at him and slammed the glass against the counter so hard that water sloshed over my hand.

"That's my husband you're badmouthing! You don't understand what he's going through—there's no way you _could_ understand!" I heaved a deep breath. "I know why he's drinking. You haven't been there when he wakes up screaming in the night. My God, Rob, he relives the camps in his dreams!" I glared at my older brother as I continued to drive my point home. "I see the terror in his eyes when he wakes up! The way he has to remind himself where he is! I'm the one who holds him when he shakes and cries because what happened to him is so terrible even the memories hurt."

Rob opened his mouth, but I wasn't finished with him yet.

"He was a prisoner for eight years, Rob. Tortured…oh _God_ how they tortured him…for eight years! _Eight years!_ Just count your blessings you don't have a clue what that was like!" I broke off and shook my head. My voice was slightly less turbulent when I finished, "Because what I see on Al's face every time he has one of those damned dreams almost kills me! _That's_ why he's drinking."

"If you understand it so much, why did you leave?"

I started crying. "Because it's tearing him apart—it's tearing _us_ apart. He's got to stop. He's got to find a better way of coping. That's why I left. I'm trying to wake him up to that! But I swear to you, Rob, I have been praying since the moment I walked out the door that it won't be long before I can go back to him. _I love him!_ He's my husband. The father of my children. But he's more than that, Rob. He's my life!"

Angie's eyes had misted over as she listened.

Rob nodded somberly, but then asked, "Beth, what if he won't stop? What if he can't? What then? Will you go back to him?"

I didn't want to think about Al not being able to stop. Burying my face in my hands, I wept. Angie threw her arms around me and fussed at Rob, "Stop being cruel. Your sister needs you right now." She rubbed my shoulders and said, "Beth, just think positively. I'm sure you did the right thing, and I'm sure Al will straighten out. If he loves you even a fraction as much as you love him, I know he will."

* * *

Mom set the level of the burner and left the rice cooking. "That'll give us plenty of time to talk," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. She indicated the tomatoes I was chopping for the salad. "Those will keep, honey. Your Dad and I want to talk to you."

I'd been dreading this all afternoon. I set the knife down on the cutting board beside the tomatoes and followed Mom into the dining room. We could hear Dad in the next room as he asked Rob and Angie to take the girls into the backyard to play until supper was ready. A moment later he joined us and he pulled out the head chair for me to sit in; he and Mom took a seat on either side of me.

Immediately Mom reached for my hand and asked, "Beth, what happened?"

Her soft gaze pained me and I found myself unable to meet her eyes. I looked at the tablecloth instead. "Al crossed a line in the sand I didn't even know I'd drawn."

"You're talking in riddles, honey. Now, you told your father the other night that Al's been having nightmares. About Vietnam?"

I nodded. "They haven't been this bad since he was in the hospital. At least, the ones I know he's had. I think he's hiding some of them, and you know he won't talk about it. Anyway, somehow he decided that drinking was the best way to deal with them this time."

"Do you have any idea what's triggering them?"

"I've got an idea about what opened the door…and if I'm right, this is all my fault."

"Don't be ridiculous, Beth," Mom argued, "how could Al's nightmares be your fault?"

"Because," I said, covering my face with my hands, "he hadn't had one for a long time…until we went out to dinner for my birthday and…and…" Both my hands and my voice began shaking at the same time. "And this man came up to our table," I finished quietly. I knew I had to give more details than that. My stomach roiled and I felt a flush creep over my face. "A man from my past."

Mom gasped and started to ask a question but Dad shushed her. They sat in stunned silence, waiting for me to continue.

Verbalizing it to Al had been hard enough. Confessing it to my parents would be like admitting it had really been adultery. Just the thought of telling them gave credence to Al's accusation and made me feel burdened by guilt for having abandoned him.

"Beth, honey, tell us," Dad finally said. "We won't judge you." When I still didn't speak, he decided to pull it out of me with gentle questioning. "Does this man have a name?"

"Dirk." I rubbed my face and finally lowered my hands. "Dirk Simon."

"When did you meet him?"

"In '69. And I hadn't seen him again until that night." Even explaining that didn't ease the guilt.

Mom took my hand again. "Honey, we all thought Al was dead in '69."

I groaned. "But he wasn't. I almost threw everything away because I was weak!"

Dad gripped my shoulders. "Beth, you have to stop this now. I was just as bad as Rob and Janie in telling you it was time to give up and move on. Whatever happened between you and this Dirk—"

"Nothing happened!" I yelled right before I started to cry. Dad had made the same assumptions Al had and, with frustration tinting my words, I reiterated, "Nothing happened. Nothing at all. He changed a flat for me, and I ran into him at lunch a couple days later. He brought me home…and then Jake…"

"Jake? Who's Jake?"

"Oh, God, I'm a horrible person!" I rested my head on the table and sobbed into my folded arms.

Mom got up and embraced me, stroking my hair as she whispered, "It's okay, Beth. You thought Al was dead. We all did."

"It's not okay," I sobbed, shaking my head as I sat up again. "I was enjoying the attention."

"Beth, look at me," Mom said, gripping my chin so I couldn't do anything but. "George Phillips flirts with me every time I go to the meat market. He's a charming man and I enjoy his attention and his compliments, but that doesn't make me unfaithful to your father." She lifted my hand and touched my wedding set. "This hasn't been off your hand since Al put it there. And your heart has never left his. Nor will it."

"He was so hurt," I insisted. "When Dirk walked up to our table…he brought up the war…and he told Al how he knew me." My tears began again. "Al had his first nightmare that night. No…nightmare isn't right. It was a night _terror_. It was like he was trapped in the memories and couldn't claw his way out. And then if that wasn't bad enough, he had a nightmare after that about me leaving him for another man." Guilt-ridden sobs took any further words from me.

Mom squeezed my hands. "Honey, I'm sure Al understands what things were like for you while he was gone."

"He said he did. But…I'm not so sure anymore." I looked from her to Dad and hung my head again. "Tuesday night, he accused me of sleeping with Dirk and Jake while he was gone."

"Is that why you left?"

Nodding, I fought to get words out around my tears. "He's been drinking more and more since January, and he's been so angry. We fight all the time now and it's started to affect the girls. Theresa's been so nervous; Michele suddenly started having monsters in the closet." I shrugged listlessly. "I couldn't take it anymore. When he said…said…"

Mom stroked my forearm. "What did Al say, sweetie?"

"He was drunk and angry," I prefaced. "He threw back at me how he was penned in a cage and thinking of me while I was 'seeing other men.' And then," I couldn't look at either of them as I repeated Al's words, "he asked me if I'd even spared a thought for him while I was screwing them. So I…I slapped him."

"You…you hit him?" Mom asked, astounded. The idea of me striking Al seemed to supersede everything else.

"Hard. Across the face." I flexed my hand as I looked at it. "I don't know what came over me." I could still see the burning red imprint on Al's cheek in my mind's eye.

"What did he do after that?" Mom prompted when I stayed quiet.

I sighed. "Nothing. He just stared at me in shock with his hand pressed to his face." I told them about packing the suitcases, about Al begging me not to go. I told them everything, pausing often when tears battled me for control. "And when I drove off," I finished, "he was crumpled on our lawn, bawling like a little boy."

"I know that was hard for you to do," Dad quietly said, lightly touching my cheek.

A pain stabbed at my heart and I nodded. Through my weeping, I said, "It's the hardest thing I've ever done. I just…I just didn't know what else to do."

"You did the right thing."

"God, I hope so, Mom. I want my Al back. I miss him."

Mom nodded, and stroked my forearm. "I know, honey. It's tough being away from him."

"Not just that. I feel sometimes like I don't know this man that I've been living with for the past few months. He's consumed by pain and trying to drown it out with booze." I paused, and added, "And getting angrier all the time when it doesn't work." Blinking away fresh tears, I repeated, "I want my Al back."

Dad let me cry for a while, his big hand caressing mine. I was grateful for his quiet strength and presence. When I seemed to finally run out of tears, Dad reached to soothe my cheeks and kissed my forehead.

"Bethy, tell me why you left."

"I just did!"

"Honey, we've skirted around the issue, but you haven't said the words." He smiled gently. "Humor an old man, baby, and tell me your reasoning."

I couldn't return his smile. I looked down at the table and splayed my fingers out as I searched my mind for the words to say. An uneven breath filled my lungs and I sighed as I exhaled.

"I told Al he had to choose what was more important to him…me and our girls, or the booze. So I'm…I'm showing him what it might be like if he doesn't make the right choice."

"And learning it for yourself, too," Dad said, knowingly.

I nodded and scrubbed at my eyes. "I miss him!"

"I know, sweetheart. Tough love is called that for a reason. It's as hard on you as it is on Al," Mom said. She squeezed my hand encouragingly.

A timer went off in the kitchen and Mom stood up. "Dinner's just about ready," she said. "Go splash some cool water on your face, honey. Pete, call the others in, okay?"

* * *

After dinner, we went into the family room. My mom enlisted my help in a granny square afghan she was making and the two of us started teaching Angie how to crochet as she expressed an interest in helping as well. Theresa and Grace were watching television with Rob. Every so often the room was filled with sound of the laugh track. The twins were upstairs having a bath under my father's supervision. I could hear him leading them in a round of "Rubber Ducky" to the accompaniment of faint squeaks.

The phone rang and Rob got up to answer it. His face hardened as he listened to the voice on the other end and I wondered if it was an obscene phone call. Until he spoke.

"Listen up. You've put my sister through the wringer and if you think I'm going to let you talk to her when you're like this, you're nuttier than I thought!"

I dropped the crochet hook and my stomach clenched. He was talking to Al. I started to jump up and take the phone, but Mom laid a restraining hand on my arm and gently shook her head.

"It's not a good idea, honey," she whispered.

Rob raised his voice. "I don't care what you think you're entitled to! You haven't seen what she's going through and I'm not going to let you do this to her!"

I gripped the arm of the sofa, half out of my seat, as Rob continued to berate Al. Dad came downstairs, having finished with the twins' bath, and it didn't take him long to figure out what was going on.

"That's enough, Rob," he said, walking over and taking the phone from him. Words couldn't be deciphered, but Al's tinny voice could just be heard as he shouted a tirade in response. Rob shook his head in disgust and stalked outside. Angie gave me a sympathetic pat on my hand and then followed him.

"Al, this is Pete," Dad said when Al apparently paused for a breath. The volume of Al's voice abruptly dropped and we were unable to hear him anymore. For several minutes Dad listened and his eyes softened. "I know, son. I know. But this isn't the time. Not while you're drunk."

Al must have started arguing, because Dad sighed. "Albert, listen to me. … No, I _did_ listen to you, now it's your turn. You can't talk to her right now, son. … No, that's coming from _me_. Call back when you're sober." He hung up. There was a finality in the click as the phone settled into the cradle.

I stood now, letting the yarn join the crochet hook on the floor. My chest felt as tight as it did the night we left. "He hasn't stopped yet?"

Dad shook his head, then crossed the room and hugged me tightly. "He was crying, Beth."

"Oh, no," I whispered. He had to be as desperate and depressed as he was wasted to cry in front of another man, even if it was only over the phone.

"He loves you, honey. That's coming through loud and clear."

"But not enough to stop drinking."

"Beth, it's not going to happen overnight."

I sighed and buried my face in his shoulder. "I know, Dad."

Mom stood and joined us, rubbing my back. "I'm sorry, honey. I know you miss Al."

"I should have talked to him."

"Why didn't you?" Bridget's cold voice startled us all.

Breaking away from my parents, I dropped to my knee and reached for her. "Bree, let me explain."

Bridget backed away from me. "No." Tears welled up in her eyes but they didn't drown out the defiant fire burning in them. "I hate you. I _hate_ you! _I **hate **you!_" The last one ended in a scream and she turned and ran upstairs, slamming the bedroom door behind her.

I dropped my arms into my lap and choked on a surge of bile as her words hung in the air. Theresa and Grace stared at me, shock and horror on their faces. Dad rested a hand on my shoulder and squeezed bracingly.

"I'll go explain it to her. She doesn't know it was my fault." He squeezed my shoulder again then went upstairs.

"Was that Daddy on the phone?" Theresa slowly asked.

I hadn't gotten up yet, so I was still at her level and I nodded. Moments later I was glad I was kneeling as Theresa suddenly screamed, "Noooo!" and burst into tears. "I wanna talk to Daddy!" she wailed. She ran to me and I opened my arms to embrace her, but she launched herself at me and started pummeling me with her little fists.

"Theresa Marie! Stop that!" gasped Mom, and she bent to intervene, but I raised my hand to wave her off. Giving a tsk of disapproval, Mom picked a stunned Grace up instead and carried her into the next room, whispering soothing words before tears could erupt.

"I wanna talk to Daddy!" Theresa shrieked over and over again, until it became simply, "I want Daddy!"

"I know you do, baby," I said softly as her blows bounced off my chest. I'd probably have more than a few bruises in the morning, but she needed this outburst.

She hit me once more and then collapsed into my lap, utterly consumed by her tears. I picked her up and hugged her close, staggering to my feet. She gripped me tightly and cried into my neck.

"Oh, baby. I know you're hurting right now, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." I cradled her head in my hand and twisted back and forth in a modified rocking motion. "I miss Daddy, too."

"I w-want m-my Daddy," she moaned, her whole body shaking as she wept.

"I know. Shh, shh. I know." I angled my head to kiss her wet cheek; the salt of her tears on my lips nearly broke my heart in two again. "I love you, Resa."

Theresa sobbed, "I love you, too. Mommy…I'm sorry I hit you."

"It's okay, baby girl. I know this is hard on you. You miss your Daddy."

"Uh-huh." She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I want Daddy."

Mom's chair was an upholstered rocking recliner, and I sat down and started it into motion. Theresa's weeping gradually subsided to an occasional sniffle and in time she fell asleep. I kept rocking, stroking her back and hair.

Grace toddled into the room, then plopped in front of the TV and started playing with a set of blocks. Mom followed immediately after and sat on the couch where I'd been sitting earlier. She watched me rock my exhausted child, and finally commented, "She wore herself out."

I nodded, continuing my caresses. "I didn't think about how this would affect the girls. I should've tried something else to get through to him."

"No, Beth. You did the right thing."

"Did I?" Shaking my head sadly, I gestured at the ceiling. "Bree is filled with rage right now, Theresa's torn up, and even Grace isn't herself. And Michele…" I stopped. "Where _is_ Michele? I haven't seen her since before her bath."

"I'll find her." Mom got up and I heard her calling Michele as she searched the house. Minutes later, I heard her cry out, "Oh, Michele! Come here, sweetheart." She came back carrying my daughter, whose tear-stained face was as pale and shocked as she'd been when we'd left home. "She was hiding in the coat closet," explained Mom. Michele sucked her index finger and burst into fresh tears as soon as she saw me.

"Sheli! Come to Mommy, baby." I shifted Theresa to my left and reached up to take Michele with my right arm. Mom lowered Michele into my lap. It was hard to give Michele the attention she needed while still supporting Theresa. Mom lifted Theresa into her arms and sat down on the couch with my baby's sleeping form cradled her lap. I focused on Michele and caressed her cheeks. "I'm so sorry you have to go through all this, sweetie. You've been the little peacemaker, haven't you? But where's the peace for you?"

Michele hesitantly reached out with her right hand, her left index finger still in her mouth, and rubbed my earlobe. Her tears splashed onto her nightgown, leaving wet marks on Pooh Bear's head. She didn't say a word, just gazed mournfully at me.

"What are you feeling, honey? Tell Mommy."

I didn't get an answer. Michele sucked her finger and nestled her head into my chest, her small fingers seeking solace in the flesh of my earlobe. I exchanged a concerned glance with Mom.

"Are you sad?" As soon as I asked the question, I knew Michele had to be thinking, _Duh, Mommy. Would I be crying if I weren't?_ "Are you angry with me?" I pressed.

Michele looked up at me and shook her head.

"Are you angry with Daddy?" Another shake of the head. "Baby, are you angry with someone else?" When I got another negative response, I sighed wearily and gently pulled her finger out of her mouth. "Michele, honey, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. Talk to me, precious."

"No more yelling," she said in a tiny voice.

"Oh, honey, I'm not going to yell at you."

Mom broke in quietly, "Beth, I don't think that's what she means."

"Ohhhhh," I realized. "Are you talking about Uncle Rob, Sheli?"

She slowly nodded, and added, "And Bridget and Resa. I don't like fighting."

"Resa wasn't fighting with me, honey. She misses Daddy and she had a lot of sad, mad feelings that she needed to get out."

"Uncle Rob was fighting with Daddy on the phone."

I pursed my lips and nodded. "Well, yes. Yes, he was. Uncle Rob's very angry with Daddy because…" I stopped, and when Mom nodded encouragingly at me, I continued, "Because Daddy's problems got so bad that I decided we had to leave. And Uncle Rob doesn't like seeing Mommy sad."

"I don't want you to be sad either," Michele told me. She pressed her head against my chest again. "Is Daddy still sad?"

"Yes, he is. And I wish I could make it better for him, but I can't. He has to do that on his own."

She nodded and suddenly asked, "Is Daddy a drunk?"

My eyes widened and I stopped rocking for a moment. I knew I hadn't said anything like that in front of the girls. I'd been very careful to avoid mentioning Al's drinking in their presence as much as I could. Perhaps she'd overheard conversations about Al _being_ drunk, but I knew I hadn't called him _a_ drunk in front of her.

"Where did you hear that?" I carefully questioned.

"Uncle Rob—after he stopped shouting at Daddy he went to the front door. I heard him tell Angie that Daddy was nothing but a drunk and a loser and he didn't know why you ever married him."

Mom gasped in outrage. I closed my eyes and counted to ten.

"Michele, honey, I want you to listen very carefully to what I'm about to tell you. A long time ago Daddy fought in a war and…some very terrible things happened to him. The government gave him some medals because of it. I want you to understand something—your Daddy is a hero." I looked into her eyes to search for comprehension and I saw a brief flare of pride. "Do you think a hero should be called a loser?"

"No."

"Neither do I." I sighed.

"Mommy, did Daddy lose the war? Is that why Uncle Rob called him a loser?"

Her innocent question caused a wave of pain to surge in my heart. "No, Sheli. Uncle Rob was calling Daddy names because he was angry with him."

"Why'd he call him a loser then?" she persisted.

"A loser is someone who has never done anything important in their life. And that's not true of Daddy at all. Daddy's gotten medals, and he's flown in space. He's taught people how to fly planes for the Navy." I gently touched her nose, "And he has you and your sisters to be a Daddy to."

I got a faint smile for that one and I followed up by kissing her nose.

"Now, as for Uncle Rob calling Daddy a drunk. Uncle Rob shouldn't have said that, either. He made a mistake and I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"What's a drunk?" she insisted.

"A drunk is somebody who only cares about alcohol…do you know what alcohol is, honey?"

"Grown-up drink, right?"

I nodded. "Some grown-ups think alcohol can make them forget bad things or make them feel better when they're sad."

"Why do they think that, Mommy?"

"Sheli, do you remember when you scraped your knee?"

She scrunched her brow, but nodded.

"Do you remember how scared and hurt and sad you felt?"

"Uh-huh."

"And do you remember how I picked you up and hugged you and kissed you to make you feel better? Then after we put a Band-Aid on your knee and I asked you what you wanted, you said a glass of apple juice."

"I like apple juice."

I smiled and kissed her forehead. "Honey, you know how I just told you that terrible things happened to Daddy in the war? His hurt was as big as if he'd scraped a million knees all at once. It was so big that sometimes Daddy remembers his hurt and it makes him very sad and scared. So sad and scared that no matter how much I hug and kiss him, he doesn't feel any better. And instead of having a glass of juice, Daddy is trying to feel better by drinking alcohol."

"Did it work?"

"No, honey, it didn't. Because alcohol only makes things worse. In Daddy's case, it made him even more sad than he already was—and it didn't stop him from remembering the hurt." I crooked a finger under her chin and looked seriously at her. "That's why we left, honey. Because my asking Daddy to stop drinking wasn't enough."

"So he's being punished because he's a drunk?"

"Your father is _not_ a drunk, Michele. Daddy's not to the point where all he cares about is alcohol. He still loves us, and that's why I hope this punishment will work." Addressing the last of Rob's comments, I said, "Baby, I love your Daddy. I always have, and I always will. That's why I married him, and that's why we had you girls." I kissed her and added, "Do you understand?"

Michele nodded. "Why doesn't Bree understand?"

"Bree's angry. She loves Daddy and she's mad at me for making her leave him. And it's okay that she feels that way."

"I don't want to sleep with her tonight," Michele declared. "She said she hates you and I don't."

"She didn't mean it, Michele," Mom broke in. "She's just upset."

Michele leaned forward in my lap to meet her grandmother's eyes. "But, Nana, she tells me if I love Daddy I'll be mad at Mommy, too." She looked at me. "And I'm not mad at you, Mommy!"

I framed her face with my hands. "Oh, Sheli. Honey, Bridget's wrong. You don't have to choose between me and Daddy."

Michele started crying, "I love you, Mommy. And I love Daddy and I miss him!"

I hugged her close. "I know you do, baby. I love you, too. And so does Daddy."

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"All right."

Mom gave me a look that wasn't quite disapproving, but implied that she didn't think it was a good thing to start. Maybe she was right, but comforting my kids was more important to me than anything right now.

Dad came downstairs, a weary look on his face.

"That one's got a lot of anger," he said. "I finally got her to understand that you weren't keeping her from her Daddy tonight, Beth, but I just couldn't break through that wall she's got up. She cried herself to sleep."

"Thanks for trying, Dad." I smiled wryly, "She's so much like Al. She inherited his Calavicci stubbornness."

He grinned encouragingly at me then bent to swoop Grace in the air. She squealed and giggled as Dad asked, "Well, Gracie-pooh, what do you say we go wash all that outdoors off of ya?" He flipped her onto his shoulders and carted her playfully upstairs.

Mom gestured at Theresa in her lap. "What about this one?"

I shook my head. "Let her skip it. She's worn out and I think I'm just gonna put her to bed."

Michele yawned, the steady motion of the rocker lulling her into drowsiness. She snuggled her head into my chest and stuck her index finger into her mouth, sucking contentedly.

"Did Rob leave?" I quietly asked when Michele's brown eyes slid closed.

Mom shook her head. "He and Angie are on the front porch."

"I don't appreciate what he said about Al."

"I know, honey. He thinks he's looking out for you by taking his anger out on Al. I guess Bridget's a lot like him, too."

I snorted. "I guess you're right." I leaned my head back against the cushion of the chair. "Oh, Mom, I wish there had been another way."

"I know, Beth." Mom eased Theresa out of her lap onto the sofa cushions and stood, "I'm going to go have a talk with your brother."


	33. Friday, April 9, 1982

**Friday, April 9, 1982**

Rob had apologized profusely to me before he and Angie left that night. "I'm sorry, sis," he'd said. "I just hate to see you hurting." He told me he hoped things worked out for me and Al, but even though he tried to hide it, I could tell that he still harbored doubts that Al would be able to overcome his problems. He woke Michele and apologized to her as well, telling her that he regretted saying such mean things about her Daddy. Michele had nodded somberly, tears welling up in her eyes as she said, "My Daddy is a hero. He got medals for the war and he went to space and the bestest thing he did is be my Daddy. I love him and Mommy said that he still loves us, too, so he's not a drunk, Uncle Rob. He's not. He just has a big hurt." Even Rob had to blink away tears as he agreed with her and apologized again.

Michele had slept cuddled up with me last night and her annoyance with her twin lasted through breakfast. Despite Dad's explanation to her, I could tell that Bridget was still furious with me. She wouldn't meet my eyes or answer a single question I put to her.

After breakfast, I braided Grace's long hair while Theresa watched, the two of them chattering away with me. Theresa's gentle eyes were haunted, the pain of last night's tantrum lingering with her. As the morning wore on, Bridget still avoided me and Michele took to shadowing me. The two extremes began to set my nerves on edge. Taking pity on me, Mom and Dad took the girls on an outing to the KC Zoo, leaving me alone in the house.

For a brief moment, the utter silence enveloped me in a warm embrace. I didn't have to worry about putting on a brave face for the girls—or for convincing my parents that I was doing fine. It didn't take more than ten minutes, though, before the quietness of the house shifted from comfort to oppressiveness. Loneliness washed over me and I suddenly missed the girls almost as much as I missed Al.

Al. Just his name brought his broken image to my mind.

I walked to the phone, picked it up, and dialed the first part of Al's office number, only to hang up. It had been four days since I'd spoken to him and my stomach was in knots. He hadn't called back after Dad had hung up on him and I honestly feared the worst.

After pacing from one end of the living room to the other for what felt like a hundred times, I dropped to the couch and folded my hands together, bowing my head and pressing my forehead into my clasped fingers.

"Oh, God…I need Your help!" I cried out. "Please…Al needs Your help. I don't even know what to ask for. Just, please, oh, Jesus, please help us!" I started crying and eventually curled up on my side, weeping until I cried myself to sleep.

* * *

Tiny fingers touched my cheek, and I opened my eyes to see Grace smiling at me.

"Hi, Mommy. Me come back."

"Hey there, angel," I said, sitting up and taking her into my lap. "Did you have fun at the zoo with Nana and Papa?"

She nodded.

"Did you see tigers? You did? And monkeys? And what else?"

"Sea lions!" She giggled. "And him bounce a ball to Papa and Papa bounce the ball back. On his head!"

"That must have been funny. What about elephants? Did you see any of those?"

Grace nodded and her eyes lit up. "We _rided_ one!"

"Oooh, was it scary?"

"Uh-huh, cuz it big! Nana scream."

She chattered on with me for a half hour straight, only stopping when Mom announced that dinner was ready.

Supper was delicious, just the comfort food I needed. Grilled salmon, whipped potatoes, green beans, and warm rolls. The zoo outing provided the main source of conversation as each girl (except Bridget) excitedly shared her version of the day's events. After dinner, Dad took the girls into the backyard to play, and Mom and I started working on the squares for the afghan again.

Mom excused herself to the bathroom after a while and no sooner had she left the room than the phone rang. I knew they didn't want me answering it in case it was Al, feeling that the longer he went without contact from me, the more effective what I was trying to do would be, but I was the only one available. I crossed the room to the extension and picked it up.

"Hello, Warner residence," I said, hoping my voice wasn't shaking too badly.

"May I speak with Mrs. Calavicci, please?" The man's voice was young, but mature.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach. What had happened to Al? There was no controlling the quiver as I said, "S-Sp-Speaking."

"Your husband asked me to call, ma'am."

"Oh, God…what happened? Is he hurt?"

The voice hurried to explain, trying to douse the panic in my tone. "No, ma'am. Well, he's got a sprained hand. I mean…he's right here and would like to speak with you, but he wanted me to place the call and assure you that he's sober first."

"Is he?"

"Yes, ma'am."

I let out a sigh of relief at that, but another question pressed at me. "Who are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh! I'm sorry. My name's Sam. Mrs. Calavicci, will you speak with him?"

I didn't even hesitate before answering, "Yes, please put him on."

I heard shuffling, and could just hear the exchange as the young man said, "She'll talk to you." I heard Al thank him, and then Sam said, "I'll be in the other room." A moment later, Al said, "Hi, Beth." He was indeed sober, but his voice was raw, ragged with emotion.

"Hello, Al," I said, cautiously.

"Baby, I miss you." The yearning in his voice was a cutlass that sliced the cautiousness away.

Closing my eyes, I responded, "I miss you, too."

He inhaled shakily and then said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the horrible things I said to you. I'm sorry for what I've done to us. I wish I could take it all back." He paused before asking, "How are the girls?"

"Coping. They all miss you terribly."

"God, I miss them, too. Beth, I'm sorry I let everything get so out of hand. I love you, honey, and I don't want to lose you. Oh, baby, I'm sorry I drove you to leaving."

"I'm sorry I had to leave. It broke my heart, Al."

Mom came back into the room and heard my side of the conversation. She immediately withdrew, granting me privacy.

"I don't ever want to be without you, Beth. I don't think I could live." The words caught in his throat. "I got a taste of that this week, and I don't ever want to feel it again."

"Yesterday you were still drinking," I gently reminded him. "Today you're sober. What changed?"

"Something happened today."

"What? Al, I want to know what's been going on. I've been so worried about you. You were so devastated when I left."

"I don't remember much about that night after you left, not clearly," he admitted. "I eventually went back inside and… Oh, Beth, even though I knew that's why you were leaving me, when I got in the house I slammed back that scotch and polished off the bottle as well. The last thing I remember is getting so disgusted with myself that I smashed the glass."

"Oh, Al." I'd been afraid that would have been the choice he'd made after we left.

His confession went on. "I didn't go into the office the next day. I just wandered around the house, going from room to room. Everything was so empty. I spent about, I don't know, maybe an hour in the girls' rooms. I buried my face in their sheets and just breathed in their smell." He let out a small laugh. "The girls smell like baby shampoo and Ivory soap, did you know that, honey?" I could just picture him shaking his head as he added, "You'd think that would've gotten through to me, but it only depressed me so much I went downstairs and got drunk again."

Guilt filled his voice and mingled with my own consuming shame at having left him. Filtering them apart wasn't an option as Al kept going.

"Beth, I called your Mom and I was so ugly to her. I know how long it takes to get to KC from here. But I accused her of lying to me and keeping me from talking to you."

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me. "She told me."

He choked in embarrassment and took another shaky breath. "After that, I drank until I passed out."

"Al, you could have died of alcohol poisoning!" Even though I knew he was fine, a clench of terror seized my stomach.

"I know, honey. It scares the crap out of me now when I think about it." He chuckled darkly. "I had one hell of a hangover when I woke up and I bit everyone's head off at work. I'll probably have to spend a month undoing all the stupid things I did with paperwork. And when I got home to that empty house…"

"You reached for the bottle again," I softly finished for him.

"Yeah." He groaned. "Oh, Beth. When I called and Rob laid into me…. Even though I deserved every word of it, I just got so mad I started yelling. I don't even know what I said to him, and then all of a sudden, your dad was on the line. His voice was so kind and I just started pleading with him and telling him how much I loved you, and how much I needed you. That I needed to talk to you, just hear your voice. Then he said, 'I know, son,' and oh, Beth, it was like a dam burst open and I started crying." Tears filled his voice even now. "But then he wouldn't let me talk to you and told me to sober up."

"And then he hung up on you," I said, filling the sudden silence that rose between us. "It killed me not to talk to you."

"Well, I lost it after that. I, um, I kicked a hole in the TV."

"Al!"

"I know. It, uh, it wasn't the only thing I destroyed."

It was a miracle he hadn't sliced his foot open smashing the glass of the TV nor started a fire, as it surely had to have sparked in its death throes. I knew how volatile Al's temper could be when he was pushed into a corner, and I could just imagine the corner he must have felt himself to be in. I didn't ask him what else he'd destroyed, but I thought of the various breakables decorating the family room out of the children's reach. It wasn't much of a stretch to picture the avenues his rage would have chosen. I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Oh, Albert. What have you done? What am I going to come home to?"

"Say that again."

"What have you--?"

He interrupted me, urgency coating his words. "No…say again that you're coming home."

"I want to. But Al, love, this is only one day."

Al grew quiet and then he reflectively said, "I know. And not even a full day yet at that."

Neither one of us spoke for a while.

"Is that how you sprained your hand?" I finally asked.

"No. I sprained it at the Project."

"I'm getting lost, honey."

His voice gave evidence of the wry smile on his face as he said, "Let me back up a bit."

"I think you better. What happened after your tantrum ended?"

"Tantrum." He laughed hollowly. "Yeah, I guess that sums up what it was pretty good. Well, I wish I could say I only cried myself to sleep…but it would be more accurate to say I drank myself into oblivion. I was still pretty trashed when I went into work this morning. I've been thanking God that I didn't get into a wreck or hurt anyone else."

I didn't want to interrupt, but I breathed, "Oh, Al, you didn't."

"All the booze did was knock me out. When I woke up, it still hurt just as much. More, because I felt awful about how weak I was for drinking. And I knew, all I had to do was stop and I could get you back. But the idea that I could numb the hurt away was so much stronger.

"There was a staff meeting this morning. I probably shoulda skipped it, but no, I went, like a fool. I had no idea what was going on. I was belligerent and arguing every point just for the sake of being difficult. And I got into a shouting match with the Project Chair."

I shook my head sadly at his confessions. He hadn't been filtering his temper well at all. "Albert, what were you thinking?"

"That's just it, Beth. I was drunk. I **wasn't** thinking. Well, that's not entirely true," he quickly amended. "I was thinking about how mad I was at your family for keeping you from me. And about how mad I was that you had taken the girls from me. And how mad I was at myself for being such an idiot as to lose you.

"Anyway, they kicked me out of the meeting and told me to go cool off. I wandered the halls and I eventually came across an empty lounge area. I was kinda thirsty by this time, so I went to get a drink from the Coke machine. I had just enough change in my pocket, but the stupid machine ate my dime and the coin return jammed. It was, as you like to say, the proverbial straw."

I suddenly had a feeling what was coming. "Honey, what did you do?"

"I went ballistic. I started pounding on the machine and kicking it, and when that didn't do anything I went after it with a hammer."

"Where on earth did you get a hammer from?" He was painting a picture of desperation, with destruction as the brushstrokes. I couldn't imagine things had gotten worse than what he'd already described, and yet it was obvious they had.

"The workmen had been repairing one of the cabinets, or installing, I dunno. They'd left their workbelts, and I grabbed the nearest hammer. I smashed the panel and then started tearing at it with one hand while I kept slamming the hammer with the other." He stopped and took a deep breath. The words that followed spilled out of him. "And that's when Sam showed up. He grabbed the hammer on the upswing and twisted it out of my grip. I guess he tossed it to the side, because then he grabbed both my hands and dragged me away from the machine. I was screaming and cursing at him the whole time. I musta looked like Grace when she fights you before a bath.

"Somehow he got me calmed down enough to let go of me. I was furious, Beth. Ordinarily, I'd have stormed away, but something made me stay. He asked me why I'd been attacking the machine and I told him about the dime. I felt so stupid once I actually said it. He looked at me with this Boy Scout look on his face and said, 'It's more than a jammed machine that's got you this upset, isn't it?'

"Beth, I started yelling at him to mind his own business and before I knew it I was laying into him like he was some slacking sailor. But the kid didn't leave, just kept looking at me with that same expression. I don't know why, but all of a sudden I started spilling my guts to him. I was telling him about you, the girls, and the night you left. I started crying." Al was crying now, too. "The next thing I knew it was like I was in a damn confessional, because I started telling him what had led to your leaving and what I'd done since."

I'd started crying in the middle of his story, and I put a hand over my mouth to hold back a sob because I didn't want to interrupt him. I was too quiet, though, because he suddenly asked, "Beth? Are you still there, honey?"

"I'm here," I said, my voice thick with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I had to do that to you."

"Beth, listen to me. _**I'm** _sorry I brought you to that point." Al fought to get the next words out around his own tear-filled voice. "I love you, baby. I love you so much."

"I love you, too."

He started sobbing then. "Oh, God. Beth, I never thought I'd ever hear you say that again. I thought I'd blown it."

"No, oh, no, baby," I hurried to assure him, a stab of pain striking me at the force of his weeping through the phone lines. "Al, I've been praying for a call like this since I left. I love you!" I took a deep breath. "Where are you, honey? Still at the Project?"

"No, I'm home."

"But…then how did…?"

"Sam came home with me. He's…well, he's keeping an eye on me. See, honey, uh, they weren't too happy with me to start off with. Well, when they finally tracked me down and saw what I'd done," he paused to draw in a steeling breath, "they threatened to kick me off the Project altogether."

"They can't do that!"

"Oh, they can, all right. But they're not. Sam went to bat for me, started defending me, and told them if they got rid of me he'd walk as well. And he'd take his theories with him! Said he wouldn't be a part of any project that didn't have compassion for one of its own. He also told them if they'd give him two weeks, he'd personally guarantee I'd be back on my feet."

"Al, honey, it took longer than two weeks to get you to this point. What makes him think--?"

Al cut my gentle caveat off. "No, even I know two weeks aren't going to fix all my problems. But what Sam told me when they left us alone was that he was pretty sure he could get me at least dried out in a little more than a week, which would give me time to fly out to Kansas City and drive home with you and the girls. That is, if that'd be okay with you."

"I'd like that. A lot." I wiped at my eyes, and asked, "So who's this Sam person?"

Al took a few moments before he answered. "Beth, are you sitting down?"

"No."

"Honey, sit down. Please." He sucked in a breath, and muttered, "I wish I was there with you to tell you this."

"What? Al, why are you acting so strange?"

"Okay, Beth. Sam's last name is Beckett. He…He's the guy who was on TV the night you collapsed. The tomb guy—the one you asked me if I knew? He just came onto the Project."

I gripped the phone and didn't say anything for a moment, too stunned by this—coincidence wasn't the right word, exactly. On the other end of the line, Al panicked at my silence and started frantically calling my name.

"I'm fine, honey," I reassured him as soon as I found my voice. "Wow. So he's the same man I saw on TV. That's interesting, isn't it?"

"Maybe it was a premonition, honey. Your angel was a vision of the one who'd help me out later."

"Maybe." A thought hit me, a thought of what Sam Beckett might think at the "angel" talk. "Al, you didn't tell him about my collapse or my angel, did you?"

"No. And he didn't overhear any of this; he's in the other room, with Star yipping up a storm right now."

"Good. Don't tell him."

"Okay, honey, I won't." If he thought my request was strange, he didn't comment on it. Maybe he thought the whole idea of my angelic visitation was more than a bit bizarre.

"How are you feeling?"

"Headachy and a bit nauseous. A little shaky. But better than I've felt in a long time."

"A couple of days from now remember that you said that—about feeling better than you have in a long time. You've got a rough road ahead of you." I sighed and then said, "Baby, if Sam lets you—and you do whatever he says—I want you to call me every day. I'm worried about you."

"Honey, if Sam tells me to ride a cow to the moon in my jockey shorts I'll do it. Anything to get you back."

I laughed. "Oh, Al, love, I miss you."

The back door slammed open and the girls traipsed in, chattering loudly. Al's breath caught and he asked, "Is that the girls?"

"Yes. Do you want to talk to them? They've been missing you like crazy."

"Is the Pope Catholic?"

I laughed again, and called out for the girls. Bridget had been laughing, and her laughter abruptly stopped as soon as she heard my voice. The girls came in, but Bridget tailed at the back, glaring at me as she crossed into the room.

I thought I could start the healing process by letting Bridget speak to Al first. I held the phone towards her and said, "Bree, I have a surprise for you."

"I don't want any of **_your_** surprises."

My face fell and I tried again, "Bree, listen to me."

She stamped her foot and shouted over me, "No! I won't listen to you! I **_won't!_**"

"Bridget," I began, but she was gone. I heard her footsteps clattering up the stairs.

I lifted the phone to my ear as Mom re-entered the room. "I'm sorry. Let me give you to Michele first."

"How long has she been like that?" Al asked.

"Since we left," I sighed. "She told me she hated me last night."

"Oh, Beth." Regret poured from him in the simple words.

"I'll go talk to her. You talk to Michele." I beckoned Michele over and handed her the phone.

"Hello?" Michele asked hesitantly. Her face lit up at the sound of Al's voice and she breathlessly said, "Daddy? Is that you?"

"Daddy?" Theresa and Grace squealed together. "I wanna talk to him!" "Daddy! Me talk!"

"After Michele, Theresa can talk, and then Grace. Mom, would you?"

She smiled and nodded. "I'll take care of it, Beth. Go talk to your daughter."

"Thanks." I took a deep breath and slowly ascended the stairs. Bridget had closed the door to the room she and Michele were sharing, so I lightly knocked before opening it. Bridget was sprawled face down upon the bed, sobbing. I walked in and sat down next to her, rubbing a hand along her back. "Bree, honey, it's Mommy." She didn't turn to face me, but she didn't pull away either. "Why did you run upstairs?"

"You left Daddy!"

"Yes, baby, I did. I didn't want to, but I had to. Daddy knows that; he understands." I soothed her back again. "You didn't let me finish downstairs, sweetie. Daddy's on the phone and he wants to talk to you."

She sat up suddenly and gawked at me. "He is?"

I nodded. "I wanted you to be the first to talk to him."

Bridget lowered her eyes. "Oh."

I hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face to me. "Honey, I know this hasn't been easy for you and I know you've been angry with me. I'm sorry I didn't sit and talk with you sooner. It must have seemed like I had time for everyone but you. I love you, Bridget."

She licked her lips and watched me.

"Daddy and I had a long talk this evening. He needs a little more time by himself to get to feeling better and when he's ready, we're going to go home."

"We are?"

"Yes, I promise."

"When?"

"Daddy's going to call me and let me know when he's ready for us to come home. I don't know exactly how long that will be. Maybe a week or so."

She studied my face again. "Will you tell me first?"

"I will."

Bridget sighed and wiped her eyes. "Do you think I can still talk to Daddy?"

"After Grace is done, yes."

"Okay." She clambered off the bed and grabbed a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand. She blew her nose and took a deep breath before heading for the door. When she was a few steps away, she halted and turned to face me again. "I do love you, Mommy."

Before I could recover from the onslaught of tears that brought on, she had disappeared to go downstairs. I paused to pray my thanks for the help delivered to Al and for the olive branch Bridget had just extended me. When I was finished praying I reached for a Kleenex as well, cleared the stuffiness from this latest crying jag, then pitched the tissue into the wastebasket and headed downstairs.

Grace was on the phone, excitedly telling Al about the "aminals" at the zoo. As she wound down, she said, "Love you, Daddy. Miss you!" Her small brow suddenly creased and her eyes filled with helpless tears. "Daddy? Daddy, no cry! I love you! No cry!"

Mom intervened, "Grace, honey, it's okay."

Grace looked at her and pleaded for help, "Nana, Daddy cry. He cry."

"Your Daddy just misses you. He's all right, sweetie. Now, tell him bye-bye and give the phone to Bree."

Bridget took the phone from her baby sister and said, "Hi, Daddy." A genuine smile spread across her face as he spoke to her. "I miss you, too, Daddy! When can we come home?" She listened and nodded. "That's what Mommy said. Do you think you could feel better fast?" Bridget's eyes misted over and she turned away from everyone. "I love you, too, Daddy."

Whatever Al said next drew a hesitant "Yes" from her and her shoulders stiffened. Her voice dropped, "I was. I'm sorry." She listened some more and her eyes darted in my direction. "I will. … Okay. … I'm sorry, Daddy. I love you." She started crying and told him goodbye.

"Daddy wants to talk to you again."

Bridget handed me the phone and started to walk away, then stopped in her tracks. She turned on her heel and threw her arms around my waist, pressing her head into my stomach. "I love you, Mommy. I'm sorry I was mean to you!"

"Oh, Bree. I love you, too, baby." I planted a kiss on the top of her head. "Thank you, precious."

She squeezed tight and then released me. Mom shooed the girls into the back room so I could finish talking to my husband.

"Thank you, Al. What did you tell her?"

"I just explained things to her."

"Well, whatever you told her, thank you."

"Please don't thank me, honey. It's my fault you had to leave, and it's my fault Bridget's been treating you that way."

"I don't want to play the blame game, baby."

He chuckled weakly and excused himself to blow his nose. His voice was still thick and nasal when he returned, but he didn't sound quite as congested. "Thanks for letting me talk to them, Beth. I miss you all so much. But especially you, honey. Especially you."

"Just do what you need to to get back on your feet, baby. We want you back." I lowered my voice and added, "And I just want you."

"Oh, Beth, I love you. And more than ever I know that I don't deserve you."

"Don't sell yourself short because you—because _we_ hit a rough spot, Al Calavicci. I love you!"

He sighed longingly. "I could stay on the phone all night talking to you. But Sam's calling me. The kid wants me to take some aspirin now."

"Okay, honey." A lump formed in my throat as I made my farewells to him. I started to cry when I hung up.

Not long afterwards, the girls came back in. Bridget was the first in the room and she touched my knee. "Why are you crying, Mommy?"

I smiled at her through my tears. "There's a lot of reasons, sweetheart. Part of it is because I miss Daddy, and part's because I'm happy Daddy's going to be feeling better." I touched her cheek. "And part is because I'm so glad you're talking to me again." I opened my arms to her and she flew into them to embrace me.

* * *

"…and bless Mommy. And help Daddy feel better so we can go home. Amen."

Bridget crossed herself and then got to her feet. She looked at Michele already nestled in the bed and then back to me. "Mommy, Michele said I broke a commander-ment."

Michele sat up slightly, balancing on her elbows, and nodded. "She wasn't honoring you, Mommy."

Bridget hung her head. "I know I was mean to you, Mommy."

I hugged Bridget and gave Michele a strong look as I said, "Bridget, I already forgave you for that. You were angry with me and I understand that, sweetheart." I stroked the back of her head as I felt weeping begin to shake her small body. "Bree, baby, everything's okay with you and me now. Don't cry, honey."

"I love you, Mommy!"

I sat on the bed and lifted her into my arms, gently rocking her back and forth. "I love you, too, Bree." I brushed her hair back and softly wiped tears from her cheeks with light fingers. "Baby, I love you always and forever."

"Will God forgive me for breaking a commander-ment?"

Michele piped up before I could answer, "Only if you're sorry!"

"I am sorry!" wailed Bridget.

I kissed her forehead and continued to rock her. "Oh, honey, I know that. And so does God. He knows you were angry and He knows how hard it was for you to be away from Daddy. God knows how sad you've been." I kissed her again. "God forgives you, Bridget."

"Are you sure?" Bridget sniffled.

"I'm positive, baby. One hundred percent positive."

She searched my eyes and appeared to find whatever she'd been looking for. Bridget let out a sigh and sagged into my chest. "I miss Daddy," she said.

"So do I," Michele agreed.

I hitched myself back to the headboard and reached out to draw Michele into my embrace as well. "I miss him, too. It won't be long until we can see him again. As soon as Daddy feels better."

"Will Daddy's big hurt go away, Mommy?" asked Michele.

Oh how I wished it could be so simple. I brushed a soft hand against her cheek and was about to answer her when Bridget spoke up. "You didn't tell me Daddy got hurt, Mommy!"

I suddenly realized that Bridget had been upstairs shut up in this very room when Michele and I had discussed Al's problems last night. Michele opened her mouth to begin explaining but I shook my head. I looked into Bridget's frightened eyes and smiled encouragingly at her.

"Bree, Daddy's hurt that Sheli is talking about happened a very long time ago…before you were even born. You know all the ribbons on Daddy's uniform?"

She nodded. "Daddy calls it his fruit salad."

I chuckled. "Well, a lot of those ribbons Daddy got for fighting in a war a long time ago. And in that war, some awful things happened to Daddy, honey."

"Like what?"

Even though I knew she'd ask, the question still blindsided me. I didn't have the lead-in I'd had with Michele the night before. Now Michele looked expectantly at me for an answer as well.

There was no way I could tell the girls the truth—it would both horrify and traumatize them. Honestly, I told them, "I would rather not tell you girls that. I know Daddy would rather that you didn't know, too. Maybe when you're older."

I hadn't counted on the wisdom of my children. Bridget quietly asked, "Is that how Daddy got those marks on his back? From the war?"

I hugged my girls closer to me and fought back tears as I nodded even though Bridget's insightful question wasn't precisely exact. Those marks on Al's back, the deep cuts and ridges, the interlacing scars that defined the years we'd spent apart were symbols of his imprisonment and of a cruelty that went beyond "common" warfare. A familiar surge of animosity towards the evil man that had ruled the prison camps surprised me. I forced myself to remain focused on my young daughters and I hugged them again.

"Yes," I said aloud. "Daddy's scars came from the war."

"Did they hurt?"

Tears spilled over my lashes as I nodded. "Yes, when it happened it hurt Daddy a lot."

"Mommy, when Daddy remembers his hurt, does he remember how he got the scars?" Michele pressed. A sheen of moisture began to develop in her brown eyes for she was as familiar with the ugly lines marring her Daddy's back as her twin was. They accepted them simply as part of who their Daddy was, but they also knew that the marks were unique to him. Now they knew what they had probably always suspected—that the scars had not always been on his back.

Simple answers were probably best and they certainly were all I was capable of at the moment. My emotions were still close to the surface as they had been since talking to Al earlier. All I could do was answer, "Yes."

Both girls turned towards me and gripped me in desperate embraces as they cried over their father's pain. I hugged them, drawing as much strength from them as they were from me.

"Girls, Daddy is okay. The only time he hurts now is when he remembers what happened to him—and that's when he feels sad and scared. But he's safe now. No one is going to hurt him anymore, okay?"

Bridget raised her head. "Does Daddy know that?"

I wasn't sure exactly what she meant and so I pressed for clarification. "Does Daddy know what, baby?"

"That he's safe, Mommy. That no one is going to hurt him. Does he know that?"

"Oh, yes, honey, yes he does."

Michele looked up at me. "If Daddy knows he's safe then why did he think alcohol would make him feel better?"

I pressed my lips together as I tried to reach their frame of reference. Coming up with one idea, I asked a leading question. "Have you had a bad dream before, honey?" When she nodded, I asked, "How did you feel when you woke up?"

"Scared."

"Even though you knew you were safe at home and Mommy and Daddy would never let anything bad happen to you?"

Michele nodded. Bridget made the connection before she did.

"When Daddy remembers his hurt, Mommy, does he forget he's safe?"

"Sometimes, baby. And so Daddy thought that drinking would help him forget the bad stuff. But it didn't."

"Because alcohol only makes things worse," chimed in Michele, parroting what I had told her last night in our discussion of Al's drinking.

"That's right." I kissed the top of her head.

"Daddy is going to stop drinking?" Michele asked.

"Yes, Sheli, he is."

Bridget grasped far more than I had ever given her credit for previously. She asked, "Mommy, what will Daddy do when he gets scared after he stops drinking?"

That was the $100,000 question. The question Al would begin answering this week as Sam Beckett helped him begin to put his alcohol dependency behind him. I had no answer for her, but I had to give one.

"I guess Daddy and I will have to figure out a way we can help him remember that he's safe."

"Do you think your hugs and kisses will start working?" Michele was drawing from my explanation from the night before when I had explained that Al had turned to drinking because my hugs and kisses weren't enough to make him feel better.

"I hope so." That satisfied the questions, for now anyway. I hugged the girls again and pressed kisses to their cheeks. "I need to check on Resa and Grace. You two close your eyes and try to go to sleep, okay?" I got up, tucked them in, and kissed them once more. "I love you so much."

"I love you, too, Mommy," they said simultaneously.

"Sweet dreams." I turned the overhead light off but left the lamp on.

Mom met me in the hallway, carrying Grace who was crying. "Resa's already asleep," she said in a soft voice, "but Grace…"

I nodded and reached for my youngest as I thanked Mom. Grace twined her arms around my neck and sobbed. I gently bounced her as I carried her into my room and sat down in the rocking chair.

"Gracie, honey, what's wrong? Why are you crying, baby?"

"Me want Daddy!"

I sympathetically clucked my tongue. In the days we'd been gone, this was the first independent meltdown Grace had had, and I found it ironic that actually speaking to Al had apparently triggered it. I drew her close to me and kissed her temple.

"Daddy misses you, too, honey."

She gazed at me, her light brown eyes pleading for help with something she was unable to verbalize. Her weeping continued so hard she began hiccupping. "Me miss Daddy! Me want Daddy!" she wailed around hiccups. "Why Daddy away?"

"Daddy is at home, Grace. He doesn't feel good right now so he needs to be by himself."

"We go home and make Daddy better!"

I swallowed a lump in my throat and hugged her tight. "Gracie, we can't, honey."

"Why not? Me want Daddy! Me make Daddy better!" She hiccupped and grabbed my face with open hands. "Daddy need Gracie!"

"Daddy needs alone time, honey."

"Him need Gracie!" she insisted. "Mommy, Nana say Daddy miss Gracie and him cry!" Her sobs turned her complexion a frustrated shade of purple. "Him cry, Mommy!"

"Yes, he cried," I softly said. "Daddy does miss you, Grace. And he loves you so very much."

Grace nodded and pulled frustratedly at her hair. "Me love Daddy! Want see Daddy!"

I gently took her hands in mine and kissed her fingers. "I know you do, Gracie. And you will. Just a few sleeps and you'll see Daddy."

"Tomorrow?"

Sadly, I shook my head. "No, baby, not tomorrow." I wished I had an exact date to pinpoint for her, but things were up to Al at this point.

Grace gave me a forlorn look and her next hiccups were pathetic. A soft tap on the door drew our attention and Mom walked in with a sippy cup. "Here, Grace, Nana fixed you a cup of water for your hiccups. Take a long drink for Nana."

Grace took the cup in her hands and swallowed several long sips, exhaling loudly as she removed the spout from her lips. A sharp hiccup sounded and Mom encouraged her to take another sip. Slowly Grace finished her water and handed it back to her grandmother.

"Hiccups gone?" Mom asked.

Grace nodded.

"Grace looks sleepy," Mom observed. "Would you like Mommy to sing you to sleep?"

"No sleep," Grace pouted. "Go see Daddy."

"If you go to sleep," I suggested, "you can see Daddy in your dreams."

I piqued her curiosity with that and she turned to stare at me. "See Daddy?"

I nodded. "What would you like to do with Daddy? Would you like to have a picnic with him?"

"Picnic," Grace repeated, smiling around a yawn. "Picnic wif him." She yawned again. "Sing, peas," she requested, leaning back against me.

I smiled and began her favorite song. Al and I had never been able to figure out why she loved it so, but it never failed to put a smile on her face and numerous repetitions of it often eased her to sleep.

"Oh I wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener…"


	34. Sunday, April 11, 1982

**Sunday, April 11, 1982**

"Mommy, the Bunny came! The Bunny came!" Theresa bounced excitedly on the bed and held my wrist in her hands.

I smiled. Yesterday, Mom and I had left the girls with Dad and Rob and gone shopping at J C Penney for Easter dresses for me and my daughters. Though the selection was picked over so close to Easter we'd found suitable dresses for the girls, including one confection that was sure to delight Grace, who adored frilly things. A quick stop at the toy store yielded four stuffed animals. While I would have preferred to give each girl a bunny, our last-minute shopping once again left us with little to choose from. Only one bunny remained in the bin of Easter toys, and I could just imagine the squabble that would ensue if only one girl received a coveted bunny. I came up with two lambs and two ducks and Mom said she had ribbon so we could give each critter a unique color to distinguish ownership.

The grocery store's Easter aisle, surprisingly, wasn't decimated. As we entered the aisle, an employee was unloading a fresh shipment to restock the empty areas. Four identical baskets ended up in our cart, along with an extra-large package of Easter grass. Two packages of jellybeans, chocolate eggs, and of course, marshmallow Peeps joined the baskets.

After the girls went to bed, Mom and Dad took charge of assembling the baskets, looking much like little kids themselves. I busied myself with removing the tags from the girls' Easter dresses, leaving my parents to enjoy this rare chance to spoil my kids. Just as I finished with the last dress Al had called and we'd talked briefly. Because he sounded drained and exhausted, his throat raw, I hadn't kept him on the phone as long as I would have liked to. After satisfying myself that he was fine, I told him how much I loved him and how proud I was of him then urged him to get some sleep.

Though I'd been pretty exhausted myself upon heading to bed after all the running, now I sat up to share in Theresa's excitement. She threw her arms around me to hug me and then jumped to the floor, pulling at my hand to follow her.

"Come see, Mommy! Come see what the Bunny bringed me!"

I got up to follow her, grinning at her enthusiasm and feeling a wistful pang that Al wasn't with me to share this. We padded down the stairs, Theresa looking back to make sure I followed close behind. She led the way to the basket Mom had affixed a placard to bearing her name in calligraphy, kneeling in front of it and lifting out a stuffed duck with a bright green ribbon tied to its neck.

"Look, Mommy!" she cried, presenting the duck to me.

I cooed accordingly and patted the stuffed creature's head. "Have you picked a name yet?"

Theresa crinkled her brow in thought and then announced, "Mistah Duck!"

"Well, hello, Mr. Duck," I said, genteelly shaking his wing in greeting. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Theresa giggled and hugged the duck close. She hefted her basket and plopped it in my lap. "The Bunny leaved goodies, Mommy!"

"I see that! You must have been a good little girl for the Bunny to be so generous to you."

Cocking her head to the side, Theresa asked, "What is jenna-wuss?"

"Look at all the goodies you got," I said, tilting the basket to display its contents. I reached in to ruffle the treats around a bit. "You're a very lucky girl! The Bunny left you a lot of candy."

"Nice Bunny! Thank you, Easter Bunny!" she shouted at the ceiling before I could shush her. Moments later I heard the heavy thump of Dad getting out of bed.

"Oh, Resa, you woke up Nana and Papa," I said.

My gentle disapproval was lost on her. "Yay! Wake up, everyone!" she cheered. She jumped to her feet and ran upstairs, shouting, "Bree! Sheli! Grace! Wake up! Wake up and see what the Bunny bringed! He's jenna-wuss!"

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"Do you like your new dress, Bree?" I asked as I brushed her hair.

Bridget looked down at the lavender dress and tugged at the smocking. She looked up at me and asked, "Would Daddy like it?"

"Oh yes," I nodded, "Daddy would think you look very pretty in it."

She smiled. "I like it."

I tied a matching ribbon in her hair to keep her curls back from her face and made sure the bow was at an angle. "Look how pretty you look! Now put on your fancy socks and the new white shoes Nana bought for you, okay?"

Michele slid off the chair she'd been sitting in and joined her twin, scrutinizing the final results.

"Well?" Bridget finally asked.

Michele nodded her approval and hugged her twin. "You look pretty in purple, Bree."

"You look pretty, too," Bridget said. Michele glanced at her light blue dress, identical to Bridget's in all but color, and smiled.

"Okay, you two go downstairs and wait in the living room until we're all ready to go. No running! I want you both looking as pretty for Mass as you look right now."

They calmly walked from the room but the clattering of their shoes on the wooden stairs betrayed their disobedience. I bit back a sigh and a stern comment. After the past few days, I was happy to see any signs of exuberance from the girls. Leaving Al behind had affected them so deeply. I sighed, knowing that the circumstances surrounding the separation had caused deep pain to my children. Only time would tell in what form it would manifest itself. I could only pray that when we rejoined Al, their little spirits would be healed.

Grace peeked in the doorway and smiled at me. "Mommy, me like new dwess!" She did a pirouette so that the flouncy skirt twirled around her.

"You look very pretty in it, too, Grace," I told her.

She beamed at me. A soft yelp sounded from behind her and she turned in that direction before facing me again. "Nana bwush Wee-sa hair."

I well remembered how diligently Mom would work to get tangles free and I also knew how tangled Theresa's hair was capable of getting. A sympathetic wince twisted my face for a moment before I picked Grace up and kissed her chubby cheeks.

"It's Easter Sunday, Grace," I said in a sudden rush of warmth. I kissed her again.

"Happy Easter," she responded, returning the kiss.

I hugged my daughter tightly and then reluctantly put her down as she began squirming. She shouted "Happy Easter" to me again and then ran off in search of her grandfather.

Checking my makeup in the mirror, I blinked away tears. Al should be here with us. I imagined him standing behind me adjusting his tie, the grin that I loved tracing his lips as he listened to the girls' laughter. _"Listen to them,"_ he'd say. _"That's how kids should sound. That's what a house should sound like."_

"Oh, Al," I whispered as my head dropped. "I hope you're okay, baby."

Mom knocked softly on my door and poked her head in, her grey curls perfectly coifed. "Beth, are you ready?"

Forcing a smile to my face, I nodded and followed her downstairs.

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"It's a shame your husband couldn't come," Nad told me as we talked in the parking lot after the service. Nadine and I had been friends since elementary school, inseparable in high school. I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth, though.

"Yes, he couldn't get away from the Project," I breezily fibbed. "He's got so much on his plate."

The half-truth ripped at me and I had to force the easy smile of pride to stay on my face. I squinted in the glare of the sun on the macadam of the church parking lot and hoped I could use it as an excuse for any excess water in my eyes.

"Well, you tell that handsome devil I've got a spot on my dance card reserved for him at the class reunion. And that means you two better be there this time!" Nad told me, wagging a sculpted acrylic nail.

Captain of the cheerleading squad, it was no surprise to me that Nad was on the reunion committee. I fully believed her to be single-handedly responsible for making sure our class held reunions on a regular basis. If she had her way, we'd surely have reunions every five years. I wondered how many calendars she had and if she ever took a break from party planning. Nad's house had been _the_ social center in high school. Her father owned the largest Lincoln dealership in the area and the family had the house to show for it.

"Nadine," said Mom, finally breaking away from chatting with the ladies in her bridge club. "How are you, dear? It's so good to see you."

"I'm fine, Mrs. Warner," smiled Nad. "Just catching up with Beth and telling her how disappointed I am that Al's too busy to get away."

Mom didn't miss a beat, nodding and smiling agreeably. "Yes, we're disappointed, too."

Three short beeps of a horn caused Nad to whip her head around and she waved distractedly at the silver Jaguar. "Ronny," she said. "We'll be late to his mother's so I better run." She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. "It was so good to see you, Beth! Keep in touch, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed, giving her a hug before she hurried to the car as fast as her straight skirt and high heels would allow her to. Mom slipped an arm around my shoulders as they drove off.

"You handled that beautifully," she whispered in my ear.

"I couldn't tell Nad," I said. "I couldn't do that to Al."

"I know." She squeezed my shoulder and then gently nudged me towards the car. "Rob and Angie are coming over for Easter dinner and we've got a lot to do yet."

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Mom set the baked ham on the table and stepped back to survey the spread.

"It looks great, Mrs. Warner," Angie enthused. "Smells wonderful, too!"

I nodded my agreement and Mom smiled her thanks at both of us. "Angie, would you light the candles and Beth, if you'd let the rest of the family know dinner's ready."

Nodding again, I stepped into the family room and beckoned everyone, saying, "Dinner's ready. Put the game away, girls, and let's eat."

Rob helped them pick up the game and then carried Grace piggyback into the dining room. Theresa whined for her grandfather to carry her, too, so Dad knelt and swung Theresa into his arms. An impromptu race to the dining room commenced, with Dad and Theresa winning.

"Ah, we'll get 'em next time, Gracie," Rob panted, winking at me.

"Pete, would you ask the blessing?"

Dad nodded at Mom and we all stood silently around the table, crossing ourselves as the prayer began. "Dear Lord, bless this food and bless the hands that prepared it. Thank You for those of our family that are here on this holy day and take special care of those who can't be with us. Thank You for Your Son and thank You for taking care of us all. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen."

"Amen."

We pulled out our chairs and sat down, immediately beginning the process of filling plates and passing dishes around the table. Mom put a spoonful of sweet potato casserole on Bridget's plate and my daughter made a face.

"What are those?" she asked.

"Sweet potatoes. You'll like them."

Bridget shook her head. "It looks like baby food."

Mom shrugged and lightly commented, "Your Daddy likes them so much he always takes seconds."

An eyebrow raised and Bridget looked suspiciously at the plate then to me. "Does Daddy really like them?"

"Yes, he does."

She allowed Mom to set her plate down in front of her and then squinted at the potatoes as she slowly lifted a tiny forkful to her lips. Surprise painted her face as she enjoyed the taste. "Why don't we have these at home, Mommy?"

I blushed and Rob started laughing. "Because your Mommy hasn't figured out how to cook them without burning them yet!"

"Rob!" Mom scolded, and Angie swatted him.

"No, he's right," I said. "I've tried but I just can't make them come out as good as yours."

"Well, looks like that's a reason for you to keep coming out here for a visit then," grinned Dad.

I smiled weakly and turned to feed Grace some of the sweet potatoes. She smacked her lips loudly and asked for more. Theresa pushed food around her plate and made patterns in the potatoes with her fork. She speared a green bean and stared at it.

"Resa? Eat your food, baby," I softly told her.

Theresa blinked her wide brown eyes and seemed to shake herself. The green bean disappeared into her mouth and she chewed it past the point of swallowing. She forced it down and slowly poked her fork into a small cube of ham.

Michele was sitting next to her sister and she reached out to touch Theresa's hand. Theresa looked at her big sister as she squeezed her fingers. "It's going to be okay," Michele said.

"It's lunchtime," Theresa protested.

Dad was closer to Theresa and he gently asked her what was wrong. She looked at him and frowned.

"Papa, Daddy said he would call on Easter…"

Dad touched her small shoulder. "Theresa, Easter isn't over by a long shot. It's not even lunchtime for your Daddy yet."

That confused her. Her little brow creased and she shook her head. "It's lunchtime now!"

Dad tried to explain the time zone difference to her but quickly abandoned it to simply tell her again, "Easter isn't over, honey. He'll call before Easter is over."

All four of my daughters looked at their grandfather and then looked at me to see if I agreed. I was concerned by the fact that Al hadn't called yet but I couldn't show it. I forced my face into a pleasant expression, smiling reassuringly at the girls and nodding. A sip of wine steadied me enough to say, "Daddy keeps his promises."

I picked up my utensils and began eating with more relish than I felt. Gradually my children returned to their meals, but Mom kept her gaze on me. I looked up and read her concern. She could feel that something was wrong with me.

As for me, I was certain something was wrong with Al.

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"Find eggs again, Unca Rob…find eggs again!" shouted Grace, clapping her hands together excitedly.

Rob looked down at the basket full of plastic snap-together Easter eggs with an air of longsuffering. His reluctance was lost on Grace, who jumped up and down in her enthusiasm.

"Hide eggs, Unca Rob. Peas?"

Grace had a way of putting a lilt on the end of her pleading requests that melted even the sternest adult heart. Whatever Rob would rather have been doing disappeared as a warm smile spread across his face. Reaching to ruffle Grace's dark hair, he said, "All right, squirt. You and your sisters go in the sunporch and hide your faces and I'll hide the eggs again."

"What a squirt?" Grace asked Michele as the girls headed onto the screened-in sunporch.

"Thanks, Rob," I told him as he picked up the basket and started to hide the eggs around the yard.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving a hand at me.

Mom grinned at me over her glass of pink lemonade. "You know he loves every minute of playing with his nieces, no matter what he says."

I smiled back. "I know he does." I watched him hide eggs, putting some in easy to find spots for Grace, while he hid the twins' eggs in tougher locations. My mother, in her wisdom, had purchased eggs in four colors. Each girl had a unique color of egg to hunt for, which ensured that the more obvious eggs weren't snatched up by the older girls. I sighed, wishing yet again that Al was with us.

Mom glanced over at the sound of my sigh and reached to squeeze my hand encouragingly. "Why don't you go call him, honey?" When I glanced at the sunporch, she shook her head. "They won't even notice you're missing, Beth."

I kissed Mom on the cheek as I rose. "I'll just be upstairs."

I slipped inside the house, entering through the door at the side yard rather than the sunporch and headed upstairs to my parents' room. I pushed the door closed, and moved through their sanctum to take a seat on Mom's side of the bed. I briefly closed my eyes then lifted the handset and dialed.

Four rings sounded before the line at home was answered.

"Hello?"

"Sam? Is that you?"

"Mrs. Calavicci. Hi. Uh, this isn't a good time."

I frowned. What about this entire weekend had been good? Fighting to remain calm, I asked Sam what he meant.

Sam sounded hesitant. "Al's really upset with me. I woke him up for lunch but maybe I should have let him rest. He started shouting at me and then cursing at me, and now I can't understand half of what he's saying."

The background noises I had initially assumed to be the television (forgetting it had been destroyed) now came through the phone lines with full clarity. I heard Star barking and over the sharp yips, I could hear Al screaming out that he just wanted to be left alone. Obscenities peppered his speech and he switched intermittently between English, Italian, and Vietnamese. My heart leapt into my throat.

"Sam…how did you wake him up? Was he talking in his sleep?"

Confusion bathed Sam's voice. "No, he was dead asleep on the couch. I shook his shoulder, and when that didn't work I poked him in the side to tease him and…"

Star's barking intensified as the stress over his master's behavior hit a peak. I didn't even let Sam finish before I cried out, "Put the dog outside, Sam!"

"He's just frightened by Al's shouting, Mrs. Cala--," Sam began to explain.

"Now, Sam! Put the damn dog outside now!"

Startled into action, Sam dropped the phone and I heard him calling Star as he chased him into the backyard. I bit my lip and prayed that the removal of the dog's barking would ease the flashback's hold on Al. I knew that Sam's playful jab in the ribs had sparked bad memories, and Star's barking had made a mental association of the guard dogs for my husband.

"It's going to be all right, honey," I called through the phone, even though I knew Al couldn't hear me. Had he been totally silent he couldn't have heard me. But somehow, it made me feel better to say it.

Sam scooped the phone up again, somewhat breathless. "Star's outside now. Why?"

"I'll explain later, Sam. Has Al calmed down any? What is he doing?"

Worry replaced confusion. "He's muttering to himself. He's pressed his body into a corner."

My stomach shrank as if large fists compressed it. My voice shook as I asked Sam to describe his posture.

"He…uh…he's sitting on the floor and his legs are straight out in front of him. He's holding his hands over his head."

"Over his head how? Straight up or wrists together?"

"Wrists together."

Like they were bound. I pressed a hand to my stomach as ripples of fear passed through my abdomen. "Sam. Listen to me. I need you to tell me exactly where Al is. Is he in the living room?"

"No, he's in the dining room, in the corner."

"Which phone are you on, the kitchen?"

"Yeah." Sam sounded frightened now. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain later," I repeated. Thank God Sam was on the kitchen phone with its incredibly long cord. "I need you to hold the receiver to Al's ear for me. Move slowly and steadily towards him, okay? Whatever happens, stay calm and keep holding the phone to his ear."

Sam didn't speak as he followed my instructions. When he reached Al, he told me, "I'm right next to him. I'm going to put the phone to his ear now."

The feel of the hard plastic against the side of his head translated to something far more sinister in Al's mind. A faint whimper of fear was quickly followed by a harsh curse. "Why don't you bastards just shoot me already?" he demanded. "You've been playing this damn game for weeks! Shoot me!" A steady stream of obscenities that included vulgarities Al would never have said in front of me erupted from him before he screamed again, "**SHOOT ME, DAMN YOU!"**

"Al, baby, can you hear me? Honey, it's Beth."

"What kind of sick game is this?" he snarled.

I bit my lip, and said again, "Baby, it's Beth. Honey, can you hear me? You're home, Al. You're home."

"No, it's a trick. It's a cruel trick."

"Oh, God, baby, no. No, it's not. Honey, it's me. It's Beth. I love you, Al. God, I wish I was there with you."

Al's protests became a despairing wail. "No, it's a lie."

Beside him, Sam said, "No, Al, it's not. Your wife's talking to you."

"Beth? Where are you? I can't see you." His voice shrank to that of a little boy's and stabbed through me with all the force of its piteousness. It was hard to be strong for him in the face of his despair when I couldn't touch him to encourage him.

"I'm in Kansas City, Al. I'm on the phone, baby. You had a bad dream, Al. That's all, sweetheart, just a bad dream."

"Here, Al, hold the phone," I heard Sam quietly urge him. "That's it. There you go. Talk to your wife."

"Beth?"

My heart cried out in anguish for what my husband was going through but somehow I managed to keep my voice steady and reassuring. "Yes, baby. I'm here."

"I miss you."

"I know. I miss you, too, Al. I love you, honey."

"Beth? I miss you. I love you," Al said, as if I hadn't spoken.

"I love you, too," I said fervently. "Baby, talk to me. Are you all right now?"

"Shower. I need a shower."

Al's disconnect from the flow of our conversation worried me. "Al, talk to me, honey. Are you all right?"

"I need a shower," he repeated. "I need a shower and I'll be fine."

"Okay, baby, go take a shower." I loosened a grip that had become painful on the receiver. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he weakly responded. "I'm going to go take a shower now." He apparently handed the phone off to Sam because he sounded distant as he informed Sam, "I'm going to take a shower."

"Sam?"

The young man sounded stunned as he responded, "Yes, I'm here."

"Make sure he's okay, would you? I'll wait."

"Uh, sure." A clunk signaled the receiver's placement on the dining table or counter as Sam trailed after my husband.

As I waited for Sam to return, I tried to calm my racing heart by breathing slowly in and out. The level of unease evident in Sam's nervous voice told me clearly he had no inkling of Al's history. I couldn't say I was surprised that Al hadn't told him. There were more than a few things about Vietnam Al wouldn't tell me even now, after being home for nearly seven years. I was just grateful he wasn't alone. That didn't stop me from yearning to be with him, though. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and soothe the bad memories away. I wanted to remind him he was safe and loved.

Quiet rustling drew me from my thoughts as I realized Sam had returned. He picked the phone up but didn't say anything for a few moments. When he finally spoke, complete and utter shock coated his voice.

"What happened to him? What the hell happened to him?" Before I could even try to answer, Sam began speaking again. His voice quavered and almost broke. "I've never seen so many scars in my life."

The tone of Sam's voice more than his words told me what had to have occurred. I could see it as clearly as if Sam described it. In his near-delirium, Al must have uncharacteristically left the bathroom door open as he stripped for his shower. When Sam went upstairs to check on him, he'd undoubtedly seen the myriad scars covering Al's back. That alone was enough to shock even someone who knew of the scars' existence. If Al had removed more than just his shirt, if Sam had caught a glimpse of the scars extending down my husband's buttocks, raggedly tearing across his legs…his legs that had never healed as straight and strong as they had been prior to the war…

Shaking my head, I softly inquired, "Has Al told you anything about his past?" I was leading Sam, and knew before he answered in the negative that Al hadn't told him one single thing about Vietnam.

"Sam, Al flew missions over Vietnam during the war and in '67 he was shot down. He was listed MIA and for nearly three years I didn't know for sure if he was alive or dead."

"But…he came home," Sam faintly argued.

"In 1975, Sam. The VC had him for eight years."

"No…oh, no." Realization slapped him in the face. "So what happened just now…wasn't a dream…that really did…"

I couldn't help the tiny sob that caught in my throat as I simply said yes, adding, "He was remembering."

"Oh, God. Oh, my dear God," Sam stammered. He sounded like he wanted to throw up. "They tortured him."

"Brutally." I let the impact of that sink in. "Sam, you said when you woke him you poked him in the ribs?"

"I didn't know," he weakly protested, guilt weighing on each word.

"I'm not blaming you," I assured him. "I just want you to understand. Al was in very bad shape when he came home. He had to undergo a lot of reconstructive surgery, and one area was his ribcage. The VC…they broke and rebroke those bones so many times when he was a POW. I'm sure he had to have been having a nightmare about the camps and when you poked him there—"

An anguished sound emerged from Sam's throat. "I'm so sorry. Oh, God, Mrs. Calavicci, I'm sorry."

He had such a good heart. He was berating himself for something he had not caused, and certainly had no control over. Sam felt as anguished and helpless as I did about what Al had gone through and how it affected him to this day.

"Sam, I told you, I'm not blaming you. I can't tell you how many times the most innocuous thing has set off a flashback for him, especially when he's in that place between waking and sleeping. Star's barking…Al heard it as the guard dogs at Cham Hoi."

"That's why you wanted me to put Star outside," reasoned Sam.

"Yes," I nodded. "Sam, I'm very glad you're there with him. I was afraid this might happen when he started to dry out. You see, he started drinking because the night terrors had started coming back."

"Night terrors?"

"Sam, they're so much more than just a bad dream. When Al has one of them—well, you saw it—he can't tell the difference between the memory and reality when he first wakes up. They're so vivid he relives what he went through."

Silence fell as Sam absorbed what I had just told him. His voice barely sounded in my ears when he spoke. "So many scars."

I had to ask. "Are you sorry you offered to help him?"

"Not at all!" There wasn't a moment's hesitation in Sam's answer. Gratitude washed over me.

"Good, because Al really needs you." I paused, and then smiled wryly. "I know you're getting more than you bargained for."

"I told Al I'd help him get through this," Sam said. "Now I'm telling you, Mrs. Calavicci. I'm here for your husband. If he needs to talk—"

I almost laughed, interrupting Sam to say, "Al isn't going to talk about what happened. When he comes downstairs, don't be surprised if he's very sullen and quiet." I thought of the times I had found him urgently drinking after a nightmare. "He's just going to want to forget."

As if reading the thoughts behind my last statement, Sam offered, "I got rid of all the alcohol in the house within an hour of getting here on Friday, Mrs. Calavicci."

"Thank you." I rubbed a hand over my face and sighed. "Take good care of him for me, Sam."

"I will." He sighed in turn and hesitantly offered, "You know, I could give him something to help him rest."

I responded far more vociferously than I expected. "No! No drugs!" I fought down a lump in my throat that had waited until now to form. "I don't want him to trade the booze for sleeping pills."

"You're right," Sam said. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Calavicci. You're right."

I softened my tone with him. "Your intentions were in the right place. But Al needs to learn to deal with the memories on his own. I know it's hard on you to see this—believe me, I know."

"Before he started drinking, how would you help him?"

The first merry laugh in months erupted from me. It was almost a full minute before I could speak, and laughter continued to bubble up. "I don't think my method will work for you. I usually hug and kiss him until he feels safe again." I chuckled again and wiped involuntary tears from my eyes. "He won't talk about it. I've tried asking him before."

Sam sat in silent thoughtfulness for a while and then said, "I'll think of something. I have to, don't I?"

"Thank you, Sam. You're an answer to prayer." I closed my eyes and thought back to my desperate prayer Friday afternoon.

He didn't respond at first and I was afraid I had embarrassed him. Then he said, "I just heard the water shut off."

"Go check on him, please. There's a phone on the nightstand in our bedroom. Would you call me back?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll call you back in a minute." There was a soft click as he settled the receiver into the cradle and I hung up the phone with a shaking hand.

I had no idea how Al would respond to Sam. While there was a slim chance that Al wouldn't recall the flashback that had captured him, I knew better than to think it might be the case this time. Far more likely was Al's shame and humiliation taking the form of a sharp tongue and bad attitude if Sam made any attempts at conversation. I felt as if I had just asked a lamb to check on the wolf's lair.

Still, if Sam intended to see this through, he needed to understand Al's pain. If he truly wanted to help Al dry out, he needed to help Al to come to grips with the demons that had recently regained lost ground in the battlefields of my husband's mind. I had no doubt about Sam's sincerity, and I believed he would do his best. What I questioned was his ability, and it struck me that Sam probably did as well.

_That's not fair,_ I berated myself. _He's offered to help and I said it myself…he's an answer to prayer._ I now directed my thoughts heavenward. _Surely You wouldn't have given us this hope if You didn't think Sam could help Al. So I'm relying on You, God. Get them through this week. Get us all through it._

The ringing phone caused me to whisper a quick, "Amen," and then answer the phone.

"Sam?"

"Hello? Who's this?"

"Janie, is that you?"

My sister sounded annoyed, "Of course it is. Beth? What did you call me when you answered? Sam?"

I sighed. "I'm waiting for a call, Janie. It's very important."

"Who's this Sam you're waiting to hear from?"

"He works with Al." I shook my head, frustrated, and cut her off as she tried to speak. "Janie, I need to keep the line clear. I'll tell Mom to call you back."

"Happy Easter to you, too," she shot back, hanging the phone up without another word.

A brief stab of guilt pained me as I replaced the receiver. It vanished when the phone rang again less than a minute later.

Just in case, I answered with a simple, "Hello."

"Mrs. Calavicci, is that you?"

"How is he?" I asked, the question verifying my identity.

"He's getting dressed." Sam hesitated, "He was just standing in the shower when I came up. He'd turned the water off, but it was like he was in another world."

"He probably was," I softly agreed.

"I gave him a towel and that seemed to bring him back. He came out, got his clothes, and went back in the bathroom to change. He closed the door this time."

"I'm glad you're there with him."

"Whatever he needs," Sam vowed. I heard the bathroom door creak open and Sam asked, "Al, do you want to talk to your wife?"

The phone passed silently from Sam to Al and then I heard him say, "Beth?"

"Hi, honey. How are you feeling?"

"Like crap."

"I'm sorry," I soothed. "I miss you."

"I miss you, too." He groaned. "Did I…did I say what I think I said to you earlier?"

"It's okay, baby," I promised him. "It's going to get better. You'll see."

"Damn it," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Beth."

"Al, it's all right, sweetheart. You were stuck in a bad memory."

"It's not all right. Damn it all to hell…"

I frowned. "Honey, stop it. Just take it easy." His fixation on the flashback surprised me. _Maybe Sam will be able to get him to talk it out after all_, I thought. "You know I wish I was there to hug you right now."

"I know." He let out a shaky sigh. "It's hard, Beth."

"It's going to get better," I said again. "I promise you, baby. Sam is going to help you get through this."

"I hope so," he said, but he sounded dubious. "I just want one peaceful sleep, is that too much to ask?"

"Of course not, honey. And you'll get one. You will." I chewed my lip as my soul pulled towards him. "I love you, you know."

"I know," Al said. "I love you more."

I heard a faint voice shouting from downstairs, "Mommy!"

I sighed. "One of the girls is calling for me."

"I can't talk to them right now," Al said quickly. He sounded both disappointed and anxious at the same time. "I'll have to call back later."

"Okay, honey. Go on and eat something. Call us when you feel up to talking to the girls. I know they want to talk to you so badly."

"Mommy! Where are you?"

I sighed again. "I've got to go, baby. I love you, Al."

"I love you, too. I'll call later, I promise."

We made our goodbyes and then I rose to open the bedroom door. Theresa stood in the hallway, the stuffed duck still clutched in her grasp as it had been since she'd plucked it from her Easter basket.

"Mommy, I missed you!" Theresa cried, burying her face in my thighs. "I didn't know where you went!"

"I didn't leave, honey." I hugged her and then lifted her into my arms. I felt terrible about her apprehension and I kissed her nose. "I'm right here, Resa."

She clung to me and buried her face in my neck. "I didn't know where you were."

"I'm right here," I repeated, running my hand along her spine. "Mommy's right here."

Theresa didn't loosen her grip one iota and shortly she started to cry. I carried her into the room she and Grace were sharing and sat down on the bed with her then began gently rocking back and forth. "I'm sorry, Resa. Mommy didn't mean to worry you."

She shook her head and sobbed, "I miss Daddy."

I cupped the crown of her head in my hand and kissed her forehead. "I miss Daddy, too."

"I want to see him."

"I know you do, honey. And as soon as Daddy feels better you will." I knew my words weren't helping. All Theresa knew was that she was hurting and she wanted her Daddy. "I tell you what. Mommy has an idea. Wait right here for me, okay?"

"Okay," she sniffled, clambering off my lap and sitting on the bed.

I hurried downstairs to the entryway where my purse hung alongside Mom's on the coat rack. I fumbled to get my wallet out and hurriedly flipped through the photographs to find the one I was looking for—a headshot of Al taken at our last visit to the photographer's. I slipped it out of the plastic sleeve and went upstairs to rejoin my daughter.

"Here you go, Resa," I said as I handed the photograph to her. "I'm going to let you be in charge of this picture until we go home to see Daddy."

She reached for the picture with both hands, gingerly holding it and staring at her father's smiling face. "Daddy," she softly said, extending a delicate finger to touch the image of her father's cheek. Theresa suddenly pressed the photo to her chest and held it there, her hands crossed over it, as she looked up at me and smiled. "Thank you, Mommy."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mmm, thank you," I told Grace as she pushed another jellybean into my mouth. The other girls had changed out of their Easter dresses once the egg hunts ended, but Grace refused to take hers off. I only hoped I'd be able to get it off her before bedtime.

She picked up her Easter basket and flounced over to Angie. She plucked a jellybean from the plastic grass and offered it to her. Angie smiled and gratefully accepted the treat, popping it into her mouth and making expansive "mmmm" noises as she chewed it up. Grace beamed and clapped her hands.

Michele and Bridget played Memory with Rob, who swore he wasn't taking it easy on them as they beat him round after round. I smiled as Bridget demanded he shuffle the cards and play again.

Theresa looked up from the coloring book she scrawled in and glanced over at me. "Easter's almost over, Mommy. When does Daddy call us?"

Three other small heads looked in my direction, slight realization in their eyes that Daddy hadn't been a part of the day.

I smiled warmly at them, hoping the worry in my thoughts over what Al might be going through didn't show. He'd promised again he would call and the still silent phone concerned me. "Daddy will call, girls."

Theresa looked deeply into my eyes, seeking out the promise I made to her, then nodded. "Okay," she said and turned back to her coloring. After a couple of seconds her sisters followed suit.

"Beth? Would you help me make some tea in the kitchen?" Mom asked.

I nodded, knowing she wanted to talk, and followed her to the kitchen. She slipped the doorstop free so the kitchen door swung closed and touched my shoulder.

"Janie said you were really short with her on the phone."

"I apologized for that," I protested, feeling for a moment as if I was a teenager squabbling with my younger sister again.

"I know something had to have been going on at home, Beth. What was it?"

I bit my lip, folded my arms, and turned away. "Al had a flashback. Sam had no idea Al was a POW and it shook him up pretty badly." I turned back to her. "I'm worried, Mom. This is why Al started drinking in the first place, because of the memories."

She gripped both my shoulders and looked intently at me. "You're afraid Sam won't be able to handle it."

I nodded. "Or Al. You should have heard him."

"Al's strong, Beth. He survived eight years of hell to come home to you. And he overcame so much to get into space. He'll beat this, too." She patted my cheek and smiled. "From what you told me, Sam sounds like a pretty special guy. He won't let Al down."

I let out a short bark of a laugh. "How can you know that?"

She smiled and shrugged. "I feel it." She picked up the kettle and began filling it with water from the tap. As she cut off the flow of water Mom looked at me. "Don't you?"

I had to nod. I still had no idea how, but I did know with certainty that my angel and this Sam Beckett were one and the same. As comforted as I had been by his mysterious visit and words of hope years ago, knowing he was with Al right now equally comforted me.

"Beth? Would you take four cups out, please?"

Mom's question pulled me out of my reverie. I nodded and opened the cabinet, withdrawing the cups and setting them on the counter. As I had so many times since my collapse, I set the conundrum of my angel aside.

The kettle whistled loudly, and Mom turned off the heat. I set tea bags in each of the cups while she poured the steaming hot water over them and I jumped when Angie came up behind me and softly touched my arm.

"Al's on the phone, Beth. Rob's talking to him right now."

"They're not fighting again, are they?" I asked, a knot in my stomach.

Angie shook her head and beamed. "Al apologized to Rob right off the bat. Rob was apologizing when I came to get you."

"Have the girls figured out it's Al yet?" I asked, wiping my hands on a towel.

"Not yet, but you know how sharp they are."

I laughed and left the kitchen. Bridget and Michele studied Rob the most intently, since he'd abandoned the game with them to answer the phone. Rob glanced up at me and smiled.

"Here's Beth," he said. "Hope you feel better soon."

I pressed the receiver to my ear and asked, "Honey? How are you?"

Al sounded tired. "I'm all right. It's been…a rough afternoon." He sighed. "My head's killing me."

"Are you up for this?" I asked, trying to continue obscuring the identity of the caller from the girls.

"I'm not a hundred percent," he said, "but there's no way I'm going to miss wishing my girls a Happy Easter."

"I'm glad to hear that, because someone's been asking for you all day." I tilted the mouthpiece away from my chin and softly called, "Theresa. Honey, guess who wants to talk to you?"

She was at my side in two seconds, grabbing the phone and smiling broadly as she said, "Happy Easter, Daddy!"


	35. Thursday, April 22, 1982

**Thursday, April 22, 1982**

I glanced at the board announcing the arriving flights and saw that Al's plane was on time and due to pull up to the gate in two minutes. I took a deep breath and quickly walked through the terminal, dodging travelers coming and going as I purposefully moved to his gate.

When Al had called to tell me he'd be arriving the following morning, I wanted to call the girls in and tell them, but Al asked me to keep it a surprise. So I waited until the girls went to sleep before I filled my parents in. While they were thrilled that things were improving in my marriage and for our children, it was tempered with regret that we would be leaving. We made plans for me to pick Al up at the airport alone, while they kept the girls occupied. I did, however, keep my promise to tell Bridget first when Al was ready for us to come home, pulling her aside in the morning to let her know we'd be going home the next day.

Now I waited nervously at the gate as passengers from the flight made their way into the terminal thoroughfare. My stomach wouldn't settle down. Sam had allowed Al to call daily; the first couple of days he sounded terrible, like he'd been stretched to his breaking point and then some. We'd agreed not to allow the girls to speak to him when he was edgy and irritable like that. Then there'd been Easter Sunday, when he'd promised the girls he would call only to end up trapped in a flashback when I called to check on him. He'd kept his promise, however hard it might have been for him to keep up a happy façade for the girls' benefit. It took a lot out of him, though, and he had so much to focus on to get himself straightened out.

Of the past week, though he wanted to, Al had felt up to talking with the girls only once, and most days his conversations with me were brief. Last night had been an exception as we'd spoken for nearly an hour, but I wondered. His dependence had increased over the course of a few months—would he be able to dry out so easily? I knew Al had been certain what was at stake, but part of me still worried what I would see when I looked in his eyes.

Al, wearing a pair of khakis and a red polo shirt, stepped into the terminal, a garment bag slung over his shoulder. The same hesitation was apparently coursing through his own mind, because Al looked around uncertainly before spotting me. Waving, I smiled warmly at him and a huge grin broke out on his face. He took purposeful strides that just verged on a jog and stopped before me. Awkwardly, we took measure of each other.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi." Al rubbed the side of his ear, hesitation coming forward again.

For my part, I looked into his eyes and searched for confirmation that this change was permanent. He returned my gaze steadily, seeking acceptance.

"This is for good isn't it?" I asked. He nodded. "Thank you." I reached up to his cheek—the cheek I'd slapped the night I left—and gingerly pressed my hand there. With my thumb, I softly stroked his skin. He closed his eyes and touched the back of my hand as he exhaled a rough breath.

Al took me into his arms then and hugged me close. "I love you, Beth."

"I love you, too."

"I'm sorry." He pulled back to look at me and slipped his hands into my hair, his thumbs directly in front of my ears as he tenderly cupped my face. "I'm so sorry." He kissed me tentatively; when I responded, he shifted his shoulder to drop the garment bag at his feet and stepped closer as the kisses intensified. Al's hands moved from my head to the small of my back and he drew me against him. I slid my hands up to his head and wove my fingers into his hair.

A passerby jostled us with his bag as he sighed and stepped around us. "Get a room," he muttered.

Al smirked in the middle of a kiss and we both snickered. He dropped his hand a bit lower and said in a sultry voice, "That's not a bad idea."

"Tempting," I said. "But I told the girls I'd be back with their surprise by lunchtime."

Al lifted his wrist behind my head and checked the time. I laughed and playfully poked him then walked my fingers up his chest and hooked my index finger in the collar of his shirt. "I want more than a quickie, Albert," I emphasized, tugging him towards me and giving him a wet kiss.

"Well, when you put it that way…" He kissed me again and then bent to retrieve his garment bag. We made our way to the exit, hand-in-hand. Every few moments Al would turn and stare at me, reaching to touch my cheek, or to tuck a curl behind my ear. The fifth time he did this, I gave him a light kiss and a reassuring squeeze around the waist.

When we got to the parking lot, I opened the back of the car and Al tossed his garment bag in. He closed the door and rested a hand on the metal.

"This was the last thing I saw—the back of this car and the taillights getting further and further away." Al shut his eyes for a moment. "Oh, Beth."

I hugged him and framed his face in my hands. "I didn't make it three blocks before I broke down and cried," I confessed. "I hope I never have to do that again."

"You won't have to. I swear."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I stopped a block from my parents' house and pulled to the side of the road.

"How do you want to do this?" I asked.

Al thought, his expression brightening. "You go in first," he said, "and then I'll ring the doorbell after a minute or so."

"I'll make sure the girls answer it," I grinned. I leaned in to him and passionately kissed him. "Al, honey, I'm so glad to have you back."

We kissed for several long minutes, and then reluctantly pulled apart to continue the short drive. I pulled into the driveway and parked the car, shutting off the engine. Trying to act nonchalant, I gave Al a kiss and then left him sitting in the passenger seat while I walked to the front door and knocked.

Dad came to answer it and I whispered to him what Al and I had planned. He grinned broadly, leaned out to wave at Al, and then closed the door behind me. I followed him into the kitchen where the twins were helping Mom make sandwiches. Grace was clumsily stirring a pitcher of Kool-Aid, and Theresa dropped ice cubes into seven glasses. Relaxed chatter filled the air and Grace greeted me enthusiastically.

The doorbell rang and a stupid grin spread across my face. "I think your surprise just arrived," I told the girls. "Why don't you go get the door and see what got delivered?"

Grace climbed down from the barstool with Theresa's help, and they followed the twins to the door. My parents and I trailed after them, standing at the back of the foyer. When we nodded an okay, Michele reached to open the door.

Al greeted them, "Hi, girls."

All four girls screamed, "**_Daddy!_**" and threw themselves at him. One by one they started crying, each of them holding on to him. Grace clutched his right leg and buried her face in his pants. Theresa had hold of his right hand and was rubbing it against her cheek. The twins each had grabbed onto his left leg and they stood nose to nose, their cheeks pressed against him.

"My girls, my angels," Al said. He brushed his left hand across Bridget's head and then Michele's. "I missed you all. Oh, my precious babies, how I missed you." He turned his right hand to cup Theresa's cheek, his thumb stroking away her tears.

Behind me, Mom sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. I caught my own tears with my index finger and cleared my throat. "Let go of Daddy long enough that he can come in and have lunch, girls."

The older three reluctantly released him, but Grace still clung to his leg. Al bent and scooped her up into his arms. She kissed his cheek and threw her arms around his neck.

"Me make Kool-Aid," she confided as he carried her inside.

"You did?" Al grinned at her and snaked an arm around my waist as we went into the kitchen.

"Daddy needs a cup!" Theresa shouted, as she climbed back into the stool and resumed her task of filling glasses with ice. Mom, still wiping at her eyes, retrieved an eighth glass from the cabinet and passed it to Theresa.

Al put Grace down in the stool next to Theresa's and crossed to my father. He bounced on his toes and took a deep breath before speaking. "Pete, I want to apologize to you and Lillian. I was horrible to you both on the phone, but even worse, I hurt your daughter. I'm so sorry."

"Thank you, son." Dad gripped Al's extended hand and then pulled him into an embrace. When he released him, Mom kissed Al's cheek.

"We love you, Albert," she said simply.

Al's voice was unsteady as he thanked them. He blinked furiously and then excused himself to the bathroom.

The girls watched him go, and we could practically feel their breath being held until he returned. I was glad we were driving back home. I didn't think they'd let him out of their sight for a moment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grace was on Al's lap, her face pressed against his neck. She insisted he carry her everywhere and shrieked hysterically whenever he started to put her down. She wouldn't leave Al even for her precious Papa—the collar of Al's polo would need to be pressed again to take the crimp out of it from where Grace had clenched it when her grandfather had tried to relieve Al. She'd screwed her eyes closed and had screamed, holding on to Al for dear life, so they'd abandoned the transition, even though it meant none of the other girls could sit on Al's lap. Fortunately, the older girls didn't openly complain about their baby sister's obsessive need to be near their father.

Bridget had claimed a spot on the couch next to Al, and she pressed against him, wrapping her arm around his middle and nestling her head on his chest in what little space wasn't being taken up by Grace. Michele had started out on the other side of Al, but when Theresa began quietly crying, Michele had silently switched places with her middle sister. Theresa laid down on the couch with her head on Al's knee and he rested his hand on her shoulder, gently stroking her arm in idle patterns. Michele leaned against Al's calf, her head resting on the sofa cushion, and she closed her eyes.

My parents, though they wanted to spend as much time with their granddaughters as they could, retreated to the backyard to work on the garden, leaving us all alone in the living room. We could hear my mom sniffling as they headed out the door.

Michele looked up at Al. "Why is Nana crying?"

"Because we're going home tomorrow and she's going to miss having you all here."

"We're going home?" Michele beamed. "So, Daddy, Mommy's punishment worked!"

Al lifted his eyebrows and turned to look at me. "Mommy's punishment?"

I gave him a sheepish shrug. "It was the only way I could think to explain it to them."

Al returned his attention to Michele and gave her a reassuring smile. "Yes, honey, Mommy's punishment worked."

"So when you remember the terrible things, you're not going to try to forget by drinking alcohol?"

"The terrible things?"

Michele nodded. "Mommy said terrible things happened to you in a war."

Al blinked but recovered quickly. "No more trying to forget things with alcohol," he agreed.

"Good." Michele said. She leaned her head against his knee and wrapped her arm around his calf. "Now maybe Uncle Rob will be nice to you again."

"Beth? What is she talking about?" Al asked, unable to hold off his questions any longer.

I closed my eyes and sighed. Opening them again, I looked at him with regretful tears welling up. "It was a while back, the night you called and had it out with Rob. He stormed out and said some things in the heat of anger and Sheli heard them. It upset her." Al's face showed that he wanted to know what Rob had said. I knew the two of them had apologized to each other on Easter—but I wasn't about to get into the names my brother had called him to satisfy his curiosity. "He apologized to me—and to Sheli—for what he said."

Theresa rolled onto her back and looked up at Al. "I missed you, Daddy. Promise we won't have to leave you again."

"Oh, Resa," Al said, tenderly rubbing her tummy, "I promise."

"I'm never leaving Daddy again, for any reason," Bridget declared.

"What about when you get married?" asked Michele.

Bridget shook her head emphatically and snuggled closer to Al. "I'm not getting married. I'm staying with Daddy forever."

"You can't do that!"

"Yes, I can, can't I, Daddy?"

Al chuckled and brushed a kiss against her forehead. "Bree, you can stay with me and Mommy forever if you want to."

"I'm getting married," Michele said.

Theresa piped up, "I'm marrying Daddy!"

Bridget sat up straighter at that and took her own turn at disdainful argumentativeness, "You can't marry Daddy!"

"Why not?"

Al caressed Theresa's cheek, smiling as he gently told her, "Because I'm already taken, honey. I'm married to Mommy."

"Well, then I'm going to stay with you and Mommy forever like Bree," she decided.

"Daddy hold me forever," Grace said without moving her face from its place pressed into Al's neck. "Want Daddy hold me."

"Gracie, you know, your sisters would like Daddy to hold them, too," I gently suggested. "Why don't you come sit with me—?"

"No!" she shrieked, causing Al to wince as the piercing sounds went right into his ear. "Only Daddy!"

"All right, Grace, baby, it's okay," Al quickly reassured her. "I'll hold you."

The doorbell rang and the older three girls looked toward me. Bridget asked, "Is that another surprise, Mommy?"

Al had a twinkle in his eye as he said, "If I'm not mistaken, that's a surprise _for_ Mommy."

I gave him a suspiciously amused look as I got up and went to the front door. I opened it to reveal the same florist's delivery boy who'd been there the day after Al had finally called me sober and every other day for the last week, presenting a tall vase of calla lilies.

Without even asking me what he already knew, he presented a clipboard. "Would you sign here, please, ma'am?" I signed and he passed me the flowers, commenting, "Someone obviously thinks the world of you, ma'am. Flowers practically every day, and I don't mind telling you it's almost wiped our stock of calla lilies clean out. Well, I hope you enjoy them." He tipped his ball cap and returned to the delivery van.

This was the largest order yet and even though there was no question they were from Al, I lifted the small card from its envelope and read,

"_Beth—_

_My love. My reason for being. _

_Life without you is meaningless. _

_I love you,_

_Al."_

It was the longest message he'd sent with any of the flowers. The others had simply said _"I'm sorry"_ or _"I love you."_ But this—this one came from deep within him and it touched me that he'd dictated it to the florist and exposed his soul in such a way. I set the flowers on the foyer table and, card still in my hand, I returned to the living room.

"What did you get, Mommy?" Michele asked.

"Flowers from Daddy, honey."

I headed straight for Al and cupped my hands around his face, bending to kiss him slowly and passionately.

"I love you so much, Al."

He traced along my jawline with his finger, pausing at my chin to gently rub my lips with his thumb, his eyes intently looking into mine all the while. He didn't let up his heartfelt gaze as he softly said, "I love you more."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Michele was the first to stray from Al's side. It was no farther than to climb into my lap and she didn't take her eyes off her father for quite a long time, but it was a small step towards normalcy. They all seemed to fear that if Al left their sight he would vanish, and I felt a pang of guilt. I kissed Michele's temple and smoothed her hair and whispered, "Everything's going to be fine now." She turned to face me and beamed.

Theresa had fallen asleep, her arms folded over Al's hand on her chest as if to hold it in place. Her cheek was pillowed against her father's thigh and she breathed the deep steadiness of contentment. Grace was still refusing to leave Al's lap, and she had one arm wrapped around his neck and the other gripping the opening of his polo shirt. My mother smiled as she came in and sat down in an empty chair.

"That's a wonderful sight," she said to no one in particular.

Al smiled and rested his cheek against the top of Bridget's head. "Lillian, it's a wonderful _feeling._"

"Nana," Bridget asked upon noticing Mom's eyes misting up, "are you and Papa sad we're going home?"

Mom made a wistful grimace. "I'm always sad when it's time for you to go home."

"Or when it's time for _you_ to go home," I gently teased. "The last time you came to see us you looked the way you did when you dropped me off at college when it was time to leave."

"You'll see," she said wisely. "One day—sooner than you want, you'll see."

I kissed Michele again. "I know," I acknowledged.

"What's college, Mommy?" Michele asked.

"School. It's where I learned to be a nurse, honey. You'll go to college one day and study to be anything you want."

"Anything?"

I nodded, "Anything at all, precious."

"Speaking of college, Beth, I've got a box of your old school things up in the attic, if you wouldn't mind going through them this afternoon? Pick out what you want to keep. Janie went through hers last time she was here, and I need to get Rob to go through his, and then I'll be able to start getting the attic in shape the way I want it."

I glanced at the clock on the wall. There wasn't much afternoon left. Gently nudging Michele off my lap, I stood and told Mom I might as well get started on it now. As I left the room to go upstairs, Michele went to sit in her Nana's lap.

I passed Dad on my way up; he was just coming down from his shower cleaning off the gardening dirt. "Grace still hanging on to Al for dear life?" he asked.

Glancing back towards the living room, I nodded. "We were wrong in thinking my leaving had affected her least. She's scared he's going to disappear again so she's making sure that won't happen, I guess."

Dad nodded thoughtfully. "She'll have to fall asleep sooner or later. I'll give Al's neck a break when she does. That little girl is getting so big!"

"Yeah, she is," I agreed, thinking of Mom's prophetic words regarding how quickly our kids would grow up. As if he could read my mind, Dad chuckled and patted my cheek.

"She'll always be your baby, Bethy. Even when she's forty-three years old."

We hugged right there on the stairs and told each other "I love you," then continued on our way. The trapdoor access to the attic was directly in front of the linen closet, and I tugged on the string to lower it. It dropped with a creak, and it took another tug to get the stairs extended. I wondered how long it had been since Janie had visited because the stairs certainly felt disused to me.

The steps creaked as I made my way into the attic, and I blindly felt for the chain to turn on the lights. The bulb was right in front of my face and I was temporarily blinded when it came on. I had to blink several times before I could see clearly enough to make my way to the large box labeled "BETH'S COLLEGE STUFF." I chuckled at the way I'd peppered my printing with flowers, especially when I compared it to Rob's box, on which he'd sloppily scrawled "ROB'S…DON'T TOUCH."

I tugged the box out and sat on the floor in front of it, slowly opening the flaps and glancing at the memorabilia contained within. The scent of old newspapers came out strongest, since they were on top. I lifted the yellowing pages and laid them in my lap, idly scanning the decades-old articles. My gentle but quick flipping abruptly came to a stop when I came across a photo of myself and three other nursing students, announcing our intentions to go into the military. Two of us had chosen Navy, the other two Army. I couldn't get over how young I looked—and how naïve. I set that particular paper to the left side to keep, and dropped the rest in a "toss" pile on the right of the box.

The next layer was easy to identify as trash—old tests that I had no idea why I had kept. Beneath that were invitations to socials and old photographs, and I began to lose myself in the memories each brought back. I heard the creak of the steps but they didn't register with me as I focused on the photograph in my hand. Al brushed his lips against my cheek and asked, "Who's that?"

"Sarah Jane Hancock. She was my roommate."

"God, you two look so young," Al commented.

I turned to look at him. "Are you implying that I look old now?"

"Never," he declared, leaning forward to kiss my mock-pouting lips. He nibbled gently on my lower lip and captured it between his, gently drawing it into his mouth as he lifted a hand to cradle the back of my head.

I kissed him so hungrily it startled him for a moment. He quickly recovered and matched my passion. Al kept one hand behind my head, his fingers twined in my hair, while the other snaked around behind me to draw me close and pull me hard against him as we kissed. Rapid hard kisses gradually transformed to fiery, lengthy French kisses, and I held tightly to Al even when we paused for breath. I pressed my forehead into his neck and panted, then shifted position so that I could kiss his throat. My fingers fumbled with the buttons at his collar and I pushed the sides of his polo apart. I rubbed my nose against his chest hair and then kissed my way back up to his mouth, kissing him deeply and slowly easing myself back against the floor. I held on to him and pulled him down with me so that he was on top of me.

"Al," I murmured as he nibbled on my earlobe and kissed a tantalizing pattern along my neck. "Al, make love to me." He paused in his attack and I began unbuttoning my blouse, ready to divest it.

Al kissed me and reached for my hands, gently moving them away from my sensuous task. I smiled and lifted my arms over my head and arched my back, inviting him. "Make love to me," I urged again.

Al shook his head, and sat up with a regretful sigh. "Your parents are just downstairs, Beth."

"So?" I reached for him and pulled him down to me again, raising my head to kiss him as I tugged his polo shirt free of the waistband of his pants.

He kissed me, but gave me a small smile and shook his head. "So it's disrespectful." Al let out a frustrated breath, "This is why I wanted to get a room earlier. Someone might come in—your parents, one of the girls…"

"Used to be there was a time that would turn you on more—the chance of getting caught," I said. Undeterred, I sought out his belt and began unfastening it. "I changed my mind about the quickie," I said as I tugged meaningfully at the waistband of his slacks. "I want you."

"Oh, Beth," Al said, and it was both a groan and a sigh at the same time. He kissed me and caressed the inner curves of my breasts. I was positive I'd finally convinced him, when we heard creaking on the stairs leading to the attic. We both froze and I couldn't help giggling.

"It's not funny!" hissed Al as he quickly adjusted his clothes and gestured for me to do the same. I already had my blouse buttoned most of the way again, but we each realized a moment apart that our hair was mussed and our faces flushed. I was just reaching for my hair to try to smooth it when Angie's head poked into the attic and the rest of her soon followed.

"Beth, your mom said you were up here, do you need any—oh!" She rounded the corner and saw me and Al. Her eyes went from one of us to the other in rapid succession and she turned a light shade of pink. I glanced down and saw that I'd misbuttoned my blouse. Shifting my gaze to Al, I saw that his polo shirt was only partway tucked in and his belt still hung loose and unfastened. I pressed my lips together in an awkward smile that Angie never saw because she'd turned and quickly left, calling a quick, "I'll see you at dinner," over her shoulder.

Al and I exchanged a slightly stunned and embarrassed look with each other and then began to laugh. He kissed my cheekbone and finished fixing his clothes. "You might want to start over on that blouse," he advised me.

I gave him a look as I unbuttoned it and prepared to redo it. Before I slid the first button into its hole, I said, "You know, we've already been walked in on; what are the odds that--?"

But Al interrupted me with a kiss. Gently tugging my shirt closed and fastening the bottom two buttons, he told me, "I'm the one that doesn't want a quickie now."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Grace pitched a fit when we settled her into her booster chair at the dinner table. "Want Daddy's lap!" she screamed, her face turning bright red. She kicked her legs furiously and arched her body against the safety straps.

Al grabbed her ankles and bent in front of her. His face was stern but gentle as he firmly said, "Grace, stop this right now."

She stopped kicking but didn't cease straining against the plastic straps. "Want sit wif you!"

"You can sit beside me," Al explained, "but not on my lap. You had plenty of lap-time with me earlier. I can't eat with you on my lap and even if I could, it's not fair to your sisters."

Grace's lower lip jutted out and she looked pleadingly at her father. "Want sit wif you, Daddy."

"Beside me," Al nodded. "And only if you sit like a lady."

"Okay," she agreed.

Bridget pouted, "I want to sit with Daddy, too."

"Well, so do I," said Michele.

Theresa didn't say a word, but the frown on her face and the tears welling up in her eyes made it quite plain how she felt.

"Girls, you need to take turns," I said.

"Grace isn't," protested Bridget.

"Grace is a toddler," Al said in a no-nonsense voice over the bickering.

Mom rapped a wooden spoon on the side of the table. The girls fell silent and stared at her with their mouths hanging open.

"Grace will sit beside Al, and Michele, you sit on the other side of him." Before Bridget and Theresa could argue, Mom continued, "Theresa, you sit across from him and Bridget, next to her."

Bridget frowned, "But I wanted to…"

"You sat next to your Daddy all afternoon, Bridget Louise. Your sisters need a turn with him."

Dad laughed. "Ever felt like such a hot commodity before, Al? Everyone wants to be near you."

Angie looked at me and smirked. "You can say that again," she murmured coyly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Al and I snuggled facing each other and stared into each other's eyes in the faint moonlight streaming through the window. He stroked my cheeks and kissed me. The old bedsprings creaked as I shifted closer to him and we couldn't help but giggle.

"You would have the noisiest bed," Al whispered.

"Once we hear Dad snoring it'll be safe," I whispered back, reaching around to squeeze his butt.

Al let out an explosive breath of surprise and then started laughing again. "Are you going to be able to wait?"

"I doubt it."

"Poor baby," he murmured, wriggling closer to me and resting his hand in the curve where my hip and waist met. His lips found mine and he pressed me against his body as we kissed. I clung to his shoulders and tangled my legs with his, rubbing my foot along his ankle.

"I love you so much, Al. I've missed you."

"Oh, Beth," he breathed in my hair. "I'm so sorry for everything. I love you."

We stroked each other's back and just reveled in being close to one another. And then, we heard it. The beautiful sound of snoring.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

A rattling sound woke me and I lifted my head from Al's chest.

"Honey, do you hear that?" I whispered.

"Hmmm?" Sleep thickened his voice. "Wha-?"

The rattle came again and I shifted so Al could sit up. A tiny voice followed the rattling as it whined, "Daddy?" As we came more awake we realized it was one of the girls pulling on the locked door.

The tugging became more frantic and the cries picked up a distinct note of hysteria. "Daddy!! Daddy!!"

Al got out of bed and padded toward the door, getting there just as we heard my mother scolding, "Grace! Leave your parents sleep and go back to bed, honey. You'll see them in the morning."

"Want Daddy!!" she wailed.

"I'm right here, baby," Al said as he opened the door. Grace looked up at him and tackled his legs.

"Daddy!" She pressed her face against the fabric of his pajamas as she locked her arms around his knees.

"Okay, Grace, you've seen him, now let's go back to bed," Mom hissed.

"No!" Grace cried. "Want Daddy!"

Mom looked at Al and sighed. "I'm sorry, Al."

"It's okay." Al bent down and scooped Grace into his arms. "I've got it from here, Lillian. Go on back to bed yourself." He leaned close and kissed her wrinkled cheek. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Al."

Al cradled Grace like a baby and she had already nestled her head into his shoulder. He smiled ruefully at me in the dim light from the hallway before pushing the door closed with one foot. I turned the lamp on so he could see to navigate his way back to the bed even though it made me squint.

"Grace, honey, what's wrong?" I quietly asked as Al sat on the bed and then swung his legs up. I pulled the sheets to his waist and reached to brush my fingers along Grace's cheek.

"Daddy," she said, closing her eyes and poking her lower lip out.

Al softly chucked a finger against her cheek. "I'm right here, Gracie."

She opened her eyes again and stared up at him, tears forming. "No go away, Daddy."

Al kissed her forehead. "Oh, honey, I'm not going anywhere."

"Love you," sighed Grace. She closed her eyes and snuggled into his hold.

"I love you, too, my little angel." Al slowly began rocking back and forth, one hand brushing against Grace's hairline as she drifted off to sleep.

I had tears in my eyes and Al looked over at me, concerned. "What is it, babe?"

I shook my head and shrugged. "I didn't think she'd be this traumatized by us leaving."

"Oh, honey…" Al leaned over to kiss me. "Give her some time to realize I'm not going to disappear on her and she'll be fine."

"I hope you're right." I gave him a wan smile.

Al eased Grace to the mattress between us and grinned when she didn't wake up. "How's about that? That's a step in the right direction." He adjusted the sheets around her and kissed me again. He laid down on his side and smoothed her hair, brushing a light kiss across her temple.

I followed suit and turned off the lamp. In the sudden blackness, Al reached across and gently ran his fingers on my arm. Quietly, so softly that I could only just hear him, Al said, "You didn't have a choice, Beth. I know that."

The bed shook as I started crying. Al felt his way from my shoulder to my cheek and soothed my tears away with his thumb. I reached up and held onto his wrist.

"I love you," I whispered.

"I know that, too," Al said, tenderly. "If you didn't, you wouldn't have gone to such lengths to get through to me. No, shh, don't cry, baby. I love you. I think I love you more now than I ever have."

I smiled through my tears. "I thought you didn't want me to cry."

He shifted his hand to run his thumb over my lips. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Beth. You and our girls."

My eyes had begun adjusting to the dark and I gently reached down to skim my fingers feather-light on Grace's cheek. I raised my eyes to meet Al's and he smiled. Giving my cheek a final pat, he draped his arm lightly over Grace and closed his eyes. I watched as he joined her in slumber and his face went lax, his breathing deepening. I put my fingers to my lips and kissed them, then stretched across to delicately press my fingertips to his lips. A faint smile lifted the corners of his mouth in repose and I felt a smile on my own face before closing my eyes as well.

A light tap and the creak of the door opening drew me back to alertness. I squinted to see a small figure creeping in the room, closing the door behind her. She made her way across the room in almost total silence, only making a noise when the bed creaked as she climbed in on Al's side. The unexpected shift to the mattress and the small arms wrapping around his middle startled him awake and he gasped.

"Shhh," I cautioned him just before our daughter spoke.

"Can I sleep with you, Daddy, please?" asked Bridget.

Al stretched one arm back to embrace her as he rolled onto his back. She snuggled in close, hugging him as she pressed her head on his chest.

"Okay, honey. Tonight you can sleep with me and Mommy." He yawned and caressed her cheek.

"I missed you," Bridget said, a twinge of sadness in her sleepy voice.

"I missed you, too, sweetheart," Al said. "I love you, Bridget."

"I love you, too, Daddy," she answered, and closed her eyes. She was asleep in moments, and Al looked over at me.

"Want to take a wager on how long it is until the other two creep in?"

"I'm betting less than five minutes on Michele," I said.

The door creaked and Al chuckled. He craned his head to see that, sure enough, Michele was now tiptoeing into the room.

"Come to join the party, honey?" he whispered.

"Can I sleep with you?" Michele asked, sleepily rubbing her eyes.

"Come around to my side, Sheli," I said, reaching down to lift her into bed with us and helping her get settled next to Grace. Al bent over to kiss her cheek and whispered something into her ear before kissing her again. Michele softly giggled and nestled down into the pillows, tucking her hands under her cheek.

"We've got quite the slumber party here," Al laughed, reaching across sleeping children to hold my hand.

"Wouldn't be complete without Theresa," I said, squeezing his fingers.

"As cramped as the bed is sure to get, I have to agree," he nodded.

I didn't hear any signs of movement in the hallway and I frowned. "She'll be crushed if she finds out her sisters slept with us and she didn't."

"You're right," Al agreed. He rubbed his thumb across the back of my hand. "Why don't you go get her and bring her in here, honey?" He indicated Bridget's sleeping form. "I can't exactly get up or I would."

I laughed and softly moved the sheets aside so I could slip out of bed. I padded into Theresa's room and lifted her into my arms. She stirred awake and peered up at me.

"Daddy wants you to come sleep with us, honey," I told her, knowing full well how left out she'd felt this afternoon.

"He does?" she asked around a yawn.

I nodded and carried her into our bedroom.

"There's my Resa," Al whispered when we got into bed. He reached his left arm out to draw her into his embrace, settling her on his chest next to Bridget. "Now we'll have the best night's sleep."

"I love you, Daddy," Theresa whispered.

"I love you, too." Al sighed. I reached to touch his arm and he looked at me. Smiling, he said, "I missed my girls and now I have them back. I have them all back."


End file.
